The Sixth Man
by AhstTraotee
Summary: When the legendary band Pentakill runs into an issue regarding the transport of their equipment, auditions begin for the most dangerous job in Valoran: Their roadie. Will they find the perfect candidate in time for the next concert? (Rated T for mild language and use of innuendos)
1. Night of The Concert

**Night of the Concert (and the Morning After)**

_It was late in the city-state of Bilgewater, but by no means was the city asleep. Pubs and taverns on numerous streets were still bustling with drunken activity, and in the case of Myron's Murderhole, the most famous tavern in Bilgewater, applause. Inside the establishment's blood and vomit-stained walls, a concert was coming to a close._

_"Remember the name and tremble - __**Pentakill**__!" the Master of Metal, Mordekaiser, bellowed. His command echoed throughout the tavern, to the delight of his audience of pirates and rogues, who roared their inebriated approval. "Thank you, and have a good night, Bilgewater!"_

* * *

About a half hour later, the members of Pentakill were leaving the Murderhole, not even bothering to get out of costume, and the majority of them wobbling slightly as they departed from the building. Their lead singer, Karthus, who had a certain affection for alcohol, was being supported by the bassist Yorick and drummer Olaf, leaning on their shoulders as the three of them stumbled as one unit. Sona, the only sober bandmember, was carrying her beloved etwahl, walking warily behind the drunken trio. Behind the Maven of Strings was Mordekaiser, trudging along with heavy footsteps as he dragged something behind him by a long, steel handle. Attached to the handle was a big, spiky wagon of Mordekaiser's own design, with the word "Pentakill" crudely painted on the side in broad, jet-black lettering. Inside the wagon were a comically large set of speakers, and the rest of the band's instruments: Karthus's microphone, Olaf's drumset, Yorick's bass, and Mordekaiser's beloved guitar, ''Numero Uno''.

The Pentakill Wagon, or simply, 'the Bandwagon', squeaked and creaked behind Mordekaiser as its wheels rolled down Bilgewater's cobblestone streets. Even though there was nary a speck of rust to be found on the wagon, it clearly suffered from age and abuse from the elements. This noble vehicle had carried Pentakill's vital equipment since Mordekaiser first got the band together, for their first concert in the Shadow Isles. This wagon had rolled from Demacia to Noxus, from Piltover to Freljord, from Zaun to Bandle City, and had taken every kind of punishment imaginable: sword strikes, fire, chemical splashes, vile mushrooms, you name it.

In short, the Bandwagon was one of the team, nay, one of the_ family_. At the same time, however...

"I grow weary of dragging this burden!" Mordekaiser grumbled to his bandmembers. "Karthus, where is this blasted hotel you made the reservations for?"

"Rezzervacations?" Karthus groaned in a slurred voice. "We going to the beach or something? Wait, -hic-... oh. Oh! Right, the hotel or whatever. Um...I was supposed to talk to someone? I figured we'd just walk -hic- walk in..."

Sona frowned, glaring at Karthus. She was not about to sleep outside _again_ because of him, especially in a less-than-morally-upstanding town like Bilgewater.

"I suppose this means we're needing to find a place to crash..." Yorick mumbled, looking around the street, empty except for the band. "Who in the Isles would be open at this time of night, though?"

Olaf thoughtfully stroked his beard for a moment, before snapping his fingers as an epiphany struck. "Heh, problem solved. There's someone in town who's ALWAYS open..."

* * *

_A few minutes later..._

* * *

"He said WHAT about me!?" Miss Sarah Fortune snarled from the other side of the front counter of her personal tavern, appropriately named Fortune's Favor.

Yorick and Olaf jumped back from the counter as Miss Fortune pulled a pistol out, waving it towards the Pentakill members. Mordekaiser and Sona were already keeping their distance, staying way out of the current mess and close to the door. It was safer that way.

Karthus, however, still in a somewhat muddled state (improving but still drunk), leaned over the counter to play with Miss Fortune's cherry-red hair. "Now, Fortune, sweetie, you know we don't mean that...-hic-...I mean, maybe Olaf does, but he's an idiot, let's face it."

"Karthus." Mordekaiser warned as Olaf's hands curled into fists.

"One sec, Morde, I'm -_hic_\- busy. Now as I was saying, since you're such a sweet little la-_hic_-lady, 'scuse me," Karthus continued, twirling a lock of Miss Fortune's hair with a bony finger. "We were thinking you'd be kind enough to give us a place to stay for the night, that's all."

"_Karthus_..." Yorick said with increased urgency as Miss Fortune's pistol came to rest on Karthus's cranium.

"Shaddup, I'm making reservations here!" Karthus snapped, before turning back to Miss Fortune. "We know you run a -_hic_\- classy establishment here, and you take _grrrrreaaaat_ pride in keeping your customers happy." Karthus swatted the pistol away from his head, and leaned in to whisper in Miss Fortune's ear. "So maybe I, as an amazing metal star -_hic_-, could get a little room service from you. Whaddya say, honey?"

Sona could only cover her face with a hand in despair. The rest of the band followed suit as the sound of Miss Fortune's pistol cracking against Karthus's face echoed through the lobby, and the esteemed bounty hunter dragged the dazed Deathsinger out by his hair, unceremoniously throwing him out into the street.

"Here's your personal suite, Karthus, with all the finest in comfort." Miss Fortune smiled in the doorway as Karthus lay passed out in the gutter. "Have a good night." And with that, the pirate hunter slammed the door shut.

* * *

"Sorry about that." Yorick sighed as Miss Fortune returned to the counter. "He doesn't speak for all of us."

"He better not." Miss Fortune warned. "And we're not finished, Olaf, just so you know. But I'm willing to save it for the Rift. I'm tired, I want to go to bed, but first, I need to know what you metalheads want."

"A room for us and our equipment." Mordekaiser explained, pointing behind him where the filled Bandwagon sat.

Miss Fortune could only silently stare up at the pile of music and metal, blinking in shock and awe. The stack of instruments and equipment very nearly touched the lobby's ceiling, which made the pirate hunter question just how her new patrons got the items inside in the first place. Looking back at Mordekaiser, she said, "We don't have room for that here. Unless you're willing to pay for a second room, of course. Your five -whoops, sorry, FOUR- beds would take up the entire space of a room."

Mordekaiser glared maliciously at Miss Fortune. "Four beds in the entire room?" he sneered.

"Two beds maximum is what I usually offer, so consider yourself lucky." Miss Fortune replied, unfazed by Mordekaiser's attempt at intimidation. "If you want your equipment to stay in here, you're buying a second room."

Before Mordekaiser could give his answer, which usually involved his morningstar, Olaf put a hand on the Master of Metal's shoulder. "Relax, Morde, no need to burn another place down. We just had an awesome concert, so we should have more than enough funds to pay for a second room. Yorick, go check the funds and pay the good lady."

Miss Fortune watched, unimpressed, as Yorick shuffled over to the Bandwagon and rummaged through the band's belongings, pulling out a Poro bank. Uncorking the bottom of the porcelain poro, the Gravedigger shook the bank vigorously, resulting in a few greasy bills lazily drifting to the floor, followed by a few rusted coins. "What the-" Yorick stammered as Sona gasped in shock.

"_Freeloaders_!?" Mordekaiser bellowed, picking up the pathetic bills. "What is the meaning of this?"

Miss Fortune casually shrugged behind the counter. "Hello? Pirates? You really expected any of them to pay? You lot are lucky you even got that amount."

"How the hell are we gonna pay for a room now?" Olaf groaned. "We don't even have enough for our OWN room, let alone for our equipment."

"Aww, sounds like you're down on your luck." Miss Fortune said teasingly, adding a twitch of her lower lip for effect. "Guess I'll just be seeing you la-"

There was a loud clang as a bag suddenly slammed down on the counter in front of Miss Fortune. Sona, now at the front counter, gave an unamused look to the bounty hunter as she pointed at the bag, implying that she should open it. The Maven of the Strings then turned her head to give her bandmates a vicious glare. This wasn't the first time she had saved them like this.

Miss Fortune rolled her eyes, and untied the leather laces of the bag to behold a large pile of little golden coins. With a surprised huff, she began to count the coins inside. "Well...with your bills over there, this is enough for one room. I'm really pushing the system with those four beds, you know. Bilgewater fire codes and all."

"Then what do we do with our equipment? We could always leave it in the lobby, you know." Yorick growled.

"That's not happening." Miss Fortune said flatly. "Best I can offer you is a space in the back of the tavern. Nice little backyard, plenty of room for everything, use it for storage all the time. Nothing will happen to your instruments, I promise."

"Done...but only because I want to get this over with and go to bed." With a sigh, Mordekaiser snapped his fingers, and Olaf and Yorick began to carefully wheel the Bandwagon out to the backyard. Sona, still at the counter, held out an open palm towards Miss Fortune, who handed her a rusty silver key.

"Down the hall to your left, first door. Have a good night, Pentakill."

Meanwhile, outside, in the gutter, Karthus was sober and shivering, regretting the drink yet again while attempting to use his songbook as a blanket.

* * *

_The next morning..._

* * *

Miss Fortune was watching the tavern's clock impatiently. Those Pentakill fools needed to check out within the next half hour, unless they wanted to pay extra. As if on cue, when the clock chimed 11:30, the band shuffled out of their room, yawning and stretching. "Morning, sunshines." Miss Fortune smiled, taking the key from Sona. "Sleep well?"

"Surprisingly, yes." Mordekaiser replied. "Your establishment is quite comfortable, Fortune."

"How sweet. Guess you're hitting the road, then. Don't forget your instruments, now." Miss Fortune said, waving the quartet towards the backyard. Olaf and Yorick hurried outside to collect the Bandwagon as Miss Fortune strutted over to check the rum and grog storage behind the counter. "So where's your next concert, anyway?" she asked as Sona stepped outside to collect Karthus.

"Bandle City, I believe, unless they force us to cancel again due to ''safety concerns''." Mordekaiser said, making air quotes in disgust at the thought.

"Can't imagine why that would be a problem." Miss Fortune smirked, pouring herself a mug of rum from a nearby tap. "I'm sure Pentakill has never given ANY upstanding city a reason to fear them."

"You give us too much credit, bounty hunter." Mordekaiser chuckled. "There was that one time that Olaf-"

"WHAT THE HELL!?"

Mordekaiser and Miss Fortune both heard Olaf's furious roar, and dashed outside to see what had happened. In the backyard, Olaf and Yorick were staring in enraged shock at two heartbreaking sights: the pile of instruments on the ground, and the gaggle of pirates outside of the yard, wheeling a hoard of treasure toward the docks using the Bandwagon.

"They didn't even take our instruments..." Yorick said in dismay. "Just the Bandwagon..."

"Fortune!" Mordekaiser yelled. "Explain this!"

"I have nothing to explain." Miss Fortune shrugged. "I promised nothing would happen to your_ instruments_, and here they are. I never promised anything regarding that hunk of scrap you call a wagon. I've got ninety-nine problems in Bilgewater, and stolen band equipment isn't one of them."

"Not so fast!" a voice hissed.

Miss Fortune turned around to see Sona and Karthus approaching from the lobby. Karthus took one glance at the corsairs outside with the Bandwagon, and put things together. "So our equipment was outside." he said, turning the observation into a statement rather than a question.

"Yes." Miss Fortune replied plainly.

"In this yard."

"Yes."

"On your property."

"I claim no responsibility for that." Miss Fortune said quickly, raising her hands into the air.

"Did we sign a waiver?" Karthus asked shrewdly.

"Pardon?" Miss Fortune asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Whenever we go anywhere, I have to sign these stupid waivers and paperwork to show that if anything happens to us or our equipment while on tour, we can't sue whoever or wherever's in question." Karthus explained, his eyes glowing brightly as he gave Miss Fortune a sinister smile. "You gave us no such waiver, therefore, we CAN have you claim responsibility for the loss, and I'm sure any city's Tribunal would agree. Are we at an understanding, ma'am?"

Miss Fortune stared at Karthus, her mouth agape. The rest of Pentakill was also watching with grins. "See, Karthus!?" Olaf guffawed. "This right here is why we need you to stop drinking! You're the smart one!"

Miss Fortune grumbled to herself. "Fine..." she muttered. "I can't exactly afford legal issues with a customer base that hardly pays, either. What can I do to keep this from getting out?"

"We get to stay here until we have a way to get our equipment with us to Bandle City. We have two days til the concert, so we won't be too great of an inconvenience, I assume?" Karthus gave a small smirk, knowing Miss Fortune was aware of the alternative.

"Fine. But you'd better get cracking on figuring something out." Miss Fortune pulled the rusted silver key out of the pocket of her trousers and shoved it into Karthus's hand, along with a pen. "Because this time," she added coldly, "I'm getting that two-day agreement in writing."


	2. Day One, 12 PM (48 Hours Remaining)

**Day One, 12:00 PM (48 Hours Remaining)**

In the lobby of Fortune's Favor, the members of Pentakill were seated around a circular table, all out of their band costumes, and all scratching their heads. The pile of instruments had been moved from the backyard, and now the bandmembers were all holding their respective musical companions tightly for fear of losing them (except for Olaf, whose drums wouldn't fit on or near the table, and so were sitting in the nearby corner. Sona, meanwhile, did not fear losing the etwahl currently cradled in her arms, as it always magically returned to her anyway.). The question of how to transport their equipment was a puzzling one indeed, however, and the usually raucous musicians sat in silence (again, nothing unusual for Sona), their minds racing to find a solution.

"Any ideas yet?" Miss Fortune asked cheerfully as she cleaned a mug with a soft, damp cloth.

"When we get one, you'll be the first to know." Karthus muttered as he fiddled with the pages of his songbook.

Olaf was glancing up at the tavern's clock up above the counter, absorbed in its rhythmic ticking. He unconsciously began tapping one finger on the table in rhythm with the clock. _Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Sona glanced over at the Freljordian, her facial expression one of curiosity. Wanting to join in on the fun, she lightly began plucking at her etwahl, the sweet ringing of her strings blending with Olaf's improvised drumming.

Yorick, who had always enjoyed Sona's music, metal or otherwise, started quietly tugging at the strings of his own instrument, letting the deep, low humming of his bass combine and contrast with the light, airy tones of Sona's etwahl.

Mordekaiser sat grumbling, not touching a single fret on his guitar. This wasn't metal, and anything that wasn't metal was immediately lesser music in his eyes. Some may have called him close-minded, but he simply considered himself a lord of fine tastes. So until his bandmates cranked it up to eleven, he was having no part in this.

Karthus, meanwhile, was browsing through his songbook for some lyrics. Flipping wildly through the pages and finding nothing appropriate, decided to throw words to the wind, and screamed in the high falsetto he often used in Pentakill performances, causing the nearby Miss Fortune to jump and drop the mug she had been cleaning.

For the other bandmembers, however, Karthus's shout was invigorating, like a call to battle. Each of them grew more enthusiastic about their jam session, with Olaf now drumming with open palms rather than a single finger. Yorick and Sona were now standing back-to-back, with chords and riffs flying from their strings, which quivered violently at the command of their musical masters.

"Now THIS is music!" Mordekaiser chuckled, lifting his guitar and striking up a few power chords with a windmilling arm. At this point, what was at first a light, almost sweet rhythm had become a ghastly cacophony in comparison, but you couldn't tell any of Pentakill that. They were simply shredding now, as if it was what they had all been born (or resurrected) to do.

Karthus's shriek rose to a forte, and words began to take shape. At first none of the band recognized it, but after a second or two, everything fell into place and the sinister-sounding lyrics were identified: Karthus's Requiem, the same curse-like song he often invoked in League matches. While the Shadow Isles denizens were unaffected by its deathly powers outside of the Rift, Sona and Olaf certainly felt it, and their bodies seemed to weaken ever so slightly. However, in the heat of a jam session as epic as this one, they didn't care, and the music played on.

Or so they thought.

_**BANG! Smash!**_ The sounds of a gunshot and a window shattering cut the fun short. The band all turned to see a very angry-looking Miss Fortune, holding a smoking flintlock.

"First of all," the bounty hunter yelled, "This ain't the Shadow Isles, you creeps! Any more funeral dirges, Karthus, and I'm shoving that book somewhere you won't be able to read it!" Karthus simply scowled in response.

"And secondly?" Mordekaiser asked, annoyed that his precious metal had not only been interrupted, but ceased. Unbelievable.

"Secondly, I don't know what 'thinking' or 'planning' means to you metalheads, but I can't even see straight with that noise, let alone think straight. My friendly suggestion to all of you is to shut up and start brainstorming. The clock's ticking, you know. And you owe me a new grog mug, Karthus!" Miss Fortune added before reaching for a new mug to clean.

"What be going on in here?!" a familiar voice bellowed from outside. The door to the tavern opened, and Gangplank, the Saltwater Scourge, walked inside with a hole in the top of his hat. "Ah, yer aim be getting better, Fortune, lass." Gangplank said, nodding towards the pistol in Miss Fortune's holster as he sat at the bar.

"Sadly, I wasn't _aiming_ for you this time." Miss Fortune muttered, begrudgingly pouring Gangplank a mug of grog and sliding it down the counter. "I was just shutting a few annoying musicians up."

"Oh?" Gangplank looked around and saw the quintet at the table. "Well, blow me down! Pentakill! How was the concert last night, ye scallywags?"

"Cheap." Olaf answered coldly, raising an eyebrow towards Gangplank, since there was a good chance a large number of the pirates at the concert were in his crew.

"Aye, that it would be. Hard to separate a true Bilgewater rogue from his hard-earned gold." Gangplank nodded solemnly, as Miss Fortune coughed to disguise her laughter at the word 'hard-earned'.

"And now some pirates have made off with our Bandwagon..." Yorick groaned with a forlorn softness.

"Is that the junky thing ye carried yer booty in?" Gangplank asked, taking an orange out of his pocket and using his cutlass to carefully peel it, not paying any attention to Mordekaiser, who was clearly getting tired of hearing his creation being compared to junk and was now swearing under his breath.

"It was a fine vehicle for our equipment." Mordekaiser finally replied after a stream of curses and a couple of deep breaths. "And now some pillager is using it for their own greedy schemes. Meanwhile, Pentakill is left without a way to carry our equipment across Valoran."

"That be a sad tale, indeed." Gangplank said between noisy mouthfuls of orange as juice dripped down his beard. "Can ye not simply carry it yerselves?"

"He has a point." Olaf mused. "I bet that I could carry everyone's equipment and not break a sweat."

"Excuse me, Berserker, but I recall an incident in Demacia where you managed to set your drumset on fire." Mordekaiser pointed out. "Since then, none of us have cared to trust you with our own precious instruments. Furthermore, how would you go about carrying the speakers?"

"Uh...Yorick can carry them. He's got little zombies, doesn't he?" Olaf suggested.

Yorick whirled on Olaf. "The ghouls I summon on the Rift fight as penance for their sins in life. The other souls I have buried have earned their eternal rest. I refuse to have them carry our luggage as if they were beasts of burden!"

"Whoa, all right, calm down, Gravedigger, I get it." Olaf sighed. "It was just a suggestion. You carry the speakers then."

"Are we all forgetting something here?" Karthus interjected. "We're not just any old band. We're Pentakill - the best metal band in Valoran!"

Sona held up one finger to remind Karthus that they were the _only_ metal band in Valoran.

"Whatever!" Karthus brushed Sona off, continuing his speech. "Either way, it results in us being something incredible, something special and unique in the eyes of all Runeterra! We're too amazing to be caught carrying our own supplies! What would the other bands across the world think?"

"Karthus is right!" Mordekaiser gasped in horror. "Any other band would see us as a joke! No band of good standing carries their own equipment! But then...what can we do? It would take me some time to forge a new Bandwagon, certainly more time than we have before we must be in Bandle City..."

"Besides, it just wouldn't be the same..." Yorick added with a shake of his head. "There is only one Pentakill Bandwagon."

"Amen." Karthus nodded, bowing his head slightly.

"If I may be speakin', landlubbers?" Gangplank, who had finished his orange, raised a hand. "From what I be seein', it sounds like your crew be a wee bit short-handed. Maybe some fresh blood on the deck be yer solution."

Mordekaiser, jumping to conclusions, stood and readied his morningstar. "Fresh blood? That can easily be arranged, pirate."

Sona swiftly rose from her chair, firing a sharp, discordant noise from her etwahl that knocked Mordekaiser back into his seat. She then shook her head, and held up six fingers.

"I do not understand, Maven." Mordekaiser groaned, the noise from the etwahl still painfully ringing in his helmet.

"She means," Karthus explained, "That what Captain Gangplank said was that we should hire a sixth member of Pentakill: a roadie! Their primary job would be to carry our belongings and transport them for us."

"Sounds good!" Olaf said. "So who wants to be our roadie?"

"What about the two of you?" Yorick asked Miss Fortune and Gangplank.

"I got a crew to be takin' care of." Gangplank said, shaking his head. "And the lady here, well, it be yer funeral if ye take her."

"Yeah, right, I don't even _like_ their music." Miss Fortune scoffed. "So that's a no from me."

"Guess we've got to spread the word that we're hiring, then." Olaf said. "See who shows up here to audition. Just like old times, eh?"

"As long as no one's auditions end up similar to yours, Berserker." Mordekaiser replied with a chuckle.

"What happened?" Miss Fortune and Gangplank asked in unison.

"He knows what he did." Karthus answered quickly.

"And you all know you liked it." Olaf retorted. "Hey, Karthus? Still have that pen? I think we need to make an advertisement."


	3. Day One, 3 PM (45 Hours Remaining)

**Day One, 3:00 PM (45 Hours Remaining)**

_HELP WANTED:_

_We are seeking a brave and possibly insane individual who is willing to take on the responsibility of carrying and transporting valuable property, including musical instruments, speakers, lighting, pyrotechnics, and other awesome things. Failure to carry out these responsibilities upon hiring may result in loss of limb, life, and/or the enslavement of one's soul._

_If you are interested in interviewing for such a position, please contact Lord Mordekaiser, or any other member of Pentakill, at Fortune's Favor in Bilgewater, before the 19th of this month. This position will only be open for two days, so do not hesitate. Auditions/interviews are being held in Fortune's Favor. Thank you for your interest._

_With metal regards,_

_Pentakill_

_P.S. Please hurry. We're desperate._

* * *

"There." Karthus said, finally putting his pen down. "I think this should work."

"I don't know..." Miss Fortune mused as she leaned over Karthus to read the newly written ad. "That whole 'enslavement of one's soul' thing could be a turn-off for people..."

"Like you know anything about turning people off, Fortune." Olaf snickered, much to Sona's disgust as she too took a peek at the advertisement.

"You're bolting for an ulting, Freljordian." Miss Fortune warned in an icy voice, putting her hands on her hips. "Anyway, this is just a roadie job? It can't be that dangerous."

"You underestimate the might of Pentakill!" Mordekaiser laughed. "We are the deadliest musicians in Valoran. Not just ANYONE has what it takes to be our roadie. It needs to be someone of strong mind, body, and spirit!"

"Particularly that last part." Karthus nodded in agreement.

Miss Fortune rolled her eyes. Shadow Isles humor. "Well, I can hang one of these ads up here in the tavern, but if you want to get people's attention, you're going to have to write some copies and spread them around."

"Oh, my poor fingers." Karthus lamented. "How many would you suggest?"

"At least fifty, maybe more." Miss Fortune answered with what could have been an attempt at a sadistic smirk.

Karthus was silent and still as the corpses that had so fascinated him all his life. "Oh, Sona?" he suddenly asked. "I have a job for you, dear!"

"She's gone." Olaf said matter-of-factly.

"What!? Where!?" Karthus demanded, whirling out of his chair to find the Maven of the Strings, who was indeed nowhere to be found.

Yorick pointed out the window Miss Fortune had previously shot through, where Sona was standing outside the tavern, holding the advertisement over her head with a big smile. "I think she made her own job." the Gravedigger said plainly.

Karthus yelled some sort of frustrated incantation, likely one he had memorized from his book, and an unearthly gust of wind blew through the tavern, knocking over a thankfully unlit oil lamp.

"Are you TRYING to break everything I own before you leave?!" Miss Fortune shrieked as she dove to the floor, just catching the fragile lamp.

"Consider yourself fortunate that the lamp was my only victim." Karthus hissed, picking the pen up again as Yorick brought him a stack of paper. "Ugh...it'll take me all night just to write these cursed ads! There must be a better way!"

"Aww, looks like the dead can't perform all miracles, can they?" Miss Fortune said in a saccharine voice as she dusted herself off and returned the lamp to its proper place.

"Do not try my patience, woman..." Karthus growled. Mordekaiser and Yorick, being of the Shadow Isles themselves, shared Karthus's distaste for the bounty hunter's comment.

"How about all of us help Karthus with writing the ads? Sona can just come back in with the first copy for all of us to look at." Olaf suggested.

"Olaf, your writing is comparable to Urgot's face." Mordekaiser replied. "While I loathe the idea of being inferior in anything, Karthus has admittedly far better handwriting than any of us could dream to accomplish. Except possibly Sona." the Master of Metal added, mumbling something about women always having good handwriting.

"Well, we are wasting time just sitting here complaining..." Yorick said morosely. "Just get writing, Karthus, before we're stuck here all night."

Karthus sighed, and pen met paper once more. Though the Deathsinger had eternity, Pentakill's time was steadily running out.

* * *

About a half hour later, Karthus had hand-written five new advertisements for the roadie position. As he stared forlornly at the measly little pile of paper he had scrawled upon, the front door creaked open, and Sona walked back inside, now holding two papers of her own. One was Karthus's original ad, and the other was a flyer of strange design. The Maven of the Strings had a grumpy expression on her face, like she had just been forced to do something that she didn't want to do.

"Welcome back, Maven." Mordekaiser said warmly, clapping Sona on the shoulder in greeting. "Has anyone answered Pentakill's call yet?"

Sona shook her head, pointing to the second paper she had received.

Mordekaiser took the paper from her, eyeing the document carefully. "Where did you even get this?"

Sona shrugged, using a hand to imitate a person walking before shoving the paper into her own face. Someone must have been trying to advertise on the same street, and gave the strange paper to her.

Mordekaiser sighed, crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it behind him. "Well, that's certainly not someone I would want as a roadie. All that woman can do is make copies of herself..."

"What woman?" Olaf asked, picking up the ball and unfolding the paper. The advertisement read: Come one, come all, to the Prestigious LeBlanc's Illustrious Illusions Extravaganza! Now performing in Bilgewater!

"LeBlanc?" Karthus asked. "No, I do not think she is what we seek in a roa-Wait!" he suddenly shouted, holding up a skeletal hand. "Mordekaiser, what was it you said she did?"

"She just makes copies of herself-" Mordekaiser paused, the impact of his words hitting harder than any metal ever could. "Makes copies!" he repeated with a triumphant laugh. "Pentakill, our problems are solved! Come, we must pay a visit to our Noxian acquaintance!"

Three of the bandmembers cheered, and Sona happily applauded. The band then filed out of Fortune's Favor, scrambling to find wherever the Deciever was performing in town.

If auditions were to be done tonight, then Emilia LeBlanc was Pentakill's last hope.


	4. Day One, 5 PM (43 Hours Remaining)

**Day One, 5:00 PM (43 Hours Remaining)**

After about an hour of wandering through Bilgewater, the members of Pentakill came across a shabby-looking building, likely an old theater. Sona recognized and pointed at a copy of the poster she had been given.

"Yes, Sona, we see it. We ALL see it..." Karthus said in borderline disgust. There were enough posters tacked and taped to the theater's exterior to give the building a full set of wallpaper. Hundreds of little papery LeBlancs smiled leeringly down at Pentakill, and the band looked back, with mixed looks of horror and unease.

"This is making me uncomfortable..." Olaf said quietly. "Can we go inside now?"

Mordekaiser nodded, and the band walked in one by one, looking around the shabby theater, decorated with antique props and posters of performances in older days.

"Almost looks like home." Yorick observed softly, lightly brushing a finger across an old poster featuring a magician in the process of being buried alive.

"Speak for yourself. This place gives me the creeps." Olaf muttered. Pentakill's three Shadow Isles denizens all turned to stare at the Berserker. "What?" Olaf asked.

Sona, meanwhile, was staring, transfixed, at a painting featuring a roguish-looking magician standing beside a lovely woman, obviously his assistant.

"What is it, Maven?" Mordekaiser asked, walking over to stand beside Sona in front of the painting. "Imagining yourself in such a role, perhaps?"

Sona nodded with a tiny smile. Supporting had always sort of been her forte.

"Intriguing." Mordekaiser mused, chuckling a little to himself. "And who is your bold and charismatic magician, eh? Is it someone we know?"

Sona's mouth dropped open, and she blushed furiously as she glared mutely at Mordekaiser, clear Sona language for, "None of your business!"

Mordekaiser laughed harder. "Of course, Maven." he said, patting her shoulder once. "Enough reminiscing for all of us, however. Where is LeBlanc?"

"Excuse me, but what are you all doing making such a racket in here!?" A male voice hissed angrily.

Mordekaiser and Sona turned from the painting to see that Jericho Swain had hobbled in from a nearby set of double doors. His beloved raven, Beatrice, was perched on his shoulder, giving Pentakill a silent, enigmatic stare.

"There is a performance currently underway!" Swain barked, irritably tapping the theater's floor with his cane. "Where are your tickets?"

"Hold on a moment!" Olaf grumbled, walking over to look Swain in the eye. "Tell me something, Noxian, who died and made YOU the bouncer here?"

"The previous bouncer, of course." Swain replied with a sneer, not even blinking at Olaf's intimidating approach, as Beatrice seemed to make some sort of rough vocalization, almost like a soft chuckle at an inside joke. "Now, I'll repeat the question: Where are your tickets?"

"We are not even here for your damned performance!" Mordekaiser growled, his eyes glowing a bright crimson. If the Berserker couldn't rattle Swain, _he_ _would_. "We merely wish to speak with LeBlanc."

"Well, you're going to have to wait until AFTER the performance!" Swain snapped, lifting his cane to give Mordekaiser a smack on the helmet, which sounded with a resonant clang. No one in Valoran could ever accuse the Master Tactician of cowardice.

"How DARE you strike the Master of Metal!?" Mordekaiser roared, raising his morningstar above his head as a magical current flowed through it. The mace swung downward at breakneck speed towards Swain's head. The Noxian general, however, remained unmoving, and in the blink of an eye, had brought his cane up to his face. The two weapons collided with a crash - the cane showing a surprising deal of sturdiness - and Swain and Mordekaiser were left staring daggers at one another from behind their chosen arms.

"Stand aside!" Mordekaiser bellowed.

"I would never yield to the likes of you!" Swain taunted.

"Old, crippled fool!"

"Inhuman scum!"

"Would you two knock it off?" Yorick asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"No!" Swain and Mordekaiser shouted in unison, not taking their eyes off of each other for a second.

The rest of Pentakill looked at each other nervously. This little task had gone so far off track, the train was going backwards. And with Swain and Mordekaiser locked in combat, it was bound to only get uglier with the passage of time. Just when it seemed that all hope was lost, the double doors Swain had entered the lobby from burst open, and an audience of pirates and nobles alike paraded out into the lobby and out the front doors, chattering about the incredible magic tricks they had just witnessed.

"Haha, see!?" Olaf laughed as the last of the audience departed from the building. "Show's over! We can go in now, right?"

Swain chuckled, slowly lowering his cane and stepping back. "Not so fast." he said. "Your metallic friend here assaulted me. He is armed and clearly dangerous, and as you are all traveling with him, you are obviously his accomplices! I cannot allow any of you inside!"

"Good going, Mordekaiser." Karthus whispered to no one in particular.

"Silence." Mordekaiser replied without even bothering to whisper.

"Now, since there seem to be no objections," Swain continued, "I'm going to have to ask all of you to QUIETLY lea- Er, Lady Buvelle?" Swain blinked as Sona approached from between Yorick and Karthus. "What exactly are you doing with this riffraff? Oh...ohhh, that's right. You five are a band." Swain rolled his eyes at the last word, glancing at his feathered companion. "Can you believe that? They are a band!"

Beatrice hid her head under her wing in apparent shame.

"Glad to know you share my opinion." Swain nodded to the bird before turning back to Sona. "I don't know what you see in these fools, Lady Buvelle...and you're certainly not going to convince me to let them in to speak to Emilia!"

Sona raised an eyebrow, smiling cordially at Swain. It was clear she was confident that she indeed _could_ convince him.

"Oho, are you taking that as a challenge?" Swain laughed in amusement. "Typical Demacian, 'tis a shame _they_ adopted you. Very well," Swain said, giving Sona a graceful yet mocking bow. "Do your worst!"

Sona shrugged, still giving Swain a genuine smile. Reaching into the folds of her sky-blue dress with her right hand, she pulled out a piece of paper, holding it in front of Swain's face.

"A ticket!?" Swain chortled. "Oh, it would take far more than an invitation to your group's noise to sway me, my lady."

Sona frowned, waving the ticket more insistently.

Swain took a closer look at the ticket and gasped. It was not a ticket to the next Pentakill concert as he had suspected, but a front-row seat to one of her personal recitals. Swain bit his lower lip. So she knew after all. A member of Noxian High Command, enjoying the music of a Demacian citizen. Yet she never said a word, and played as gracefully for him as any other guest. It was small wonder that the Maven of the Strings met warm reception near anywhere she went, and knew great popularity in the League of Legends. No matter. He had to try and cover for himself. "Er, that's quite an offer, but I cannot accept it." Swain cleared his throat. "I am an esteemed general, and would need my bodyguards to accompany me at all times. Tragically, it seems that you do not have-"

Sona's thumb slid to the right, and through sleight of hand that would have made Twisted Fate proud, she revealed four more identical tickets.

"Oh...I see." Swain could have keeled over that very minute and died of embarrassment. It was too good of an opportunity. At least he didn't have to worry about being seen purchasing her tickets this time. Putting on a scowl, he swiped the tickets from Sona's hand. "Go." he muttered, hobbling towards the theater's front entrance. As he limped past the rest of Pentakill, the Master Tactician raised his cane, and pointed it at the band in a threatening gesture. "You never saw anything here." Swain said firmly. "Oh, and Lady Buvelle?" he added as he stood in the lobby's doorway. "Do make some new friends other than these undead hooligans. I fear they may someday be a bad influence upon you. Good day, 'Pentakill'. Forever strong!" With those words, the Grand General of Noxus walked outside.

When Swain shut the door, Sona turned back to her companions with a smile.

"Sona, you never cease to amaze me." Karthus shook his head in disbelief. "How were you able to sway him so easily?"

Sona put a hand to her mouth as if she was hiding a secret, then pointed with her free hand, first outside towards Swain, then to a nearby supply closet.

"I had no idea Swain played that lane." Olaf said, scratching his head. A choking noise could then be heard as Yorick and Karthus tried not to laugh.

Sona glanced at Olaf, unamused. That was not what she meant at all. Perhaps Karthus had a point last night when he called the Berserker an idiot.

"Enough gossip!" Mordekaiser barked. "Focus on the task at hand, Pentakill! Let us approach the stage and speak with LeBlanc! Karthus, do you still have the advertisement with you?"

"Of course." Karthus opened his songbook to reveal where he had been keeping the ad, safe and neatly tucked away in its pages.

"Excellent. Forward, to the stage!" Mordekaiser commanded, with all the confidence and fierceness he exemplified as a general of the Shadow Isles. No one remained to keep them from their goal any longer.

* * *

Walking through the double doors and past the rows of tattered, velvety seats, Mordekaiser and the other bandmembers could see Emilia LeBlanc on stage, wearing a silk top hat and a matching suit of black and red, the dark fabric distinctive against her pale skin. She did not seem to pay much attention to her new visitors as they walked to the front row and sat down, apparently preoccupied with packing everything up on stage.

Yorick attempted to quietly clear his throat, just enough of a noise to possibly get LeBlanc's attention. However, though his soft coughing echoed through the theater, the Deciever paid the noise no heed.

Karthus grew impatient, and added his own coughing to Yorick's, followed soon by Olaf. (Sona merely covered her mouth so she could at least pretend.) It was clear now that LeBlanc was deliberately ignoring them, as the band spotted her rolling her eyes at their tactics. Or perhaps it was at the magic trunk whose lid seemed jammed, who knew. The coughing cacophony continued, drowning out the whirring hum of the ceiling fans, until Mordekaiser decided enough was enough. The Master of Metal rose to his feet, and at the top of his lungs, roared, "BOOOOOOO! GET OFF THE STAGE, YOU FRAUD!"

It seemed to do the trick, as LeBlanc suddenly turned to her audience of five, and hollered, "Who said that!? Who dares to insult the Prestigious LeBlanc!?"

The other four members of Pentakill all pointed at Mordekaiser without a second thought. "Traitors." Mordekaiser grumbled, crossing his arms. "All of you."

LeBlanc squinted angrily at her visitors, lips tightly pursed. "The Prestigious LeBlanc demands to know why you insist on staying after the show to speak to her."

"We'd like to ask for your help with something, please." Karthus said carefully, trying to take the polite high ground.

"Ha, and again, _ha_! The Prestigious LeBlanc must have been mistaken!" LeBlanc was holding her sides tightly as she laughed. "She thought this was the crude and obnoxious metal band known as Pentakill, not a gaggle of comedians with manners! What would you possibly ask the Prestigious LeBlanc for assistance with?"

Karthus, who seemed to have broken the ice, decided to continue before someone in the band said something LeBlanc wouldn't like. Flattery could go far in this situation. "Well, ahem... We have an important document that we must have made into copies, and a lot of them, in a short amount of time. Ideally, we would need the copies by tonight, and when we saw your _beautifully made poster_," Karthus paused a moment before continuing, silently pushing himself to keep laying on the compliments, true or otherwise. "You were the first we thought of as a solution to our predicament, nay, our savior in these troubled times. Death may last forever, my dear Deciever, but in this case, we simply don't have that. Would you please demonstrate your magical prowess and duplicate our own advertisement so that we may be on our way?"

"Hmm..." LeBlanc seemed to be considering Karthus's proposal, tapping the end of her magic staff against her chin. "The Prestigious LeBlanc approves of the fact that you are smart enough to go to the best when in need."

Karthus nodded, holding his tongue, and glancing cautiously back at the band, making sure they weren't getting ready to speak up and ruin everything.

"However!" LeBlanc snapped, bringing her staff down upon the stage's wooden floor with a bang. "She does NOT approve of the thunderous racket you made while arguing with her staff, namely her assigned security. The Prestigious LeBlanc is only thankful that her wonderful audience MOSTLY drowned out the chaos you created when you had your altercation with Jericho Swain!"

Karthus felt himself wither inside a little. As far as civility was concerned, LeBlanc was absolutely right in this case. Swain may have swung at Mordekaiser first, but he was apparently telling the truth and actually doing his job as a bouncer. Furthermore, a tap on the helmet with a wooden cane compared to full-on attempted assault with a solid steel morningstar didn't leave much room for debate. In fact, Pentakill was probably very lucky that Swain decided to simply walk away and not press charges, or report Mordekaiser to the Bilgewater Tribunal.

"Very well," Karthus sighed. "Your point has been made. It was wrong of us to do, and we are terribly sorry about that." Karthus then looked back at Mordekaiser. "Right?" he added in a low hiss.

Mordekaiser only grumbled something under his breath. Whether an apology was laced in there or not was something that would likely remain unknown for eternity, as well as whether or not the apology would have even been sincere, though everyone in the room highly doubted it.

"Nevertheless," Karthus continued, "We still implore you to help us. And if there is anything we can do to redeem ourselves for our despicable behavior, we will gladly do so."

"We will?" Olaf asked Karthus from where he was seated with the rest of the band.

Yorick and Sona, sitting on either side of Olaf, both hit him on whichever shoulder was nearest to them in order to shut him up.

"Yes, we will." Karthus said loudly, staring at Olaf for a second before turning back to LeBlanc. "Would this offer mean anything to you?"

"Well...the Prestigious LeBlanc does have another show in about an hour, and Swain was only scheduled as security for the earlier performance." LeBlanc gave Pentakill a wide smile. "Aha! The Prestigious LeBlanc has a glorious plan! She will have you all assisting during the show!"

"And if we do this," Karthus said quickly. "You will duplicate our advertisement after the show?"

"Yes, yes, whatever." LeBlanc said hurriedly, grabbing Karthus by the shoulders and pushing him backstage. "The rest of you, get in here! The Prestigious LeBlanc needs to reset the stage, and all of you need to get ready! The show must go on!"

The bandmembers offstage all got out of their seats and rushed to get backstage. Sona seemed excited, Olaf was nervous, and Yorick didn't care. Mordekaiser, meanwhile, was chuckling to himself as he pictured LeBlanc trying and failing to saw him in half.

**Author's Notes: If any bronies are reading this, as with all readers, thank you for your support, first of all, and YES, if there is suspicion, I did take some inspiration from the Great and Powerful Trixie for LeBlanc's character. It just seemed too appropriate for the Prestigious LeBlanc skin. xD**


	5. Night One, 7 PM (41 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 7 PM (41 Hours Remaining)**

"Places, everyone!" LeBlanc snapped as she adjusted her hat behind the stage's velvety curtain. "The Prestigious LeBlanc does not have all night!"

Nearby, the Pentakill members were trying to get themselves ready in the short amount of time they had left. Well, with the exception of one. Mordekaiser's dream of humiliating LeBlanc during the 'sawing-in-half' trick had been swiftly crushed when she assigned him to security duty. While Mordekaiser was easily able to hide his disappointment, claiming it was a natural choice due to his size and strength, he was perhaps ever so slightly regretting threatening Swain earlier in the evening, as that was likely a larger factor in the Deceiver's decision.

Backstage, the rest of the band was getting into costume. LeBlanc refused to allow any of them to wear their usual concert attire ("LeBlanc is putting on an extravagant performance of illusion, NOT a mosh pit!"), but she had a large wardrobe at her disposal, and had told them she was certain they would find something to her liking. She appeared to be mistaken, however, as Olaf and Yorick both ignored the costumes and stuck with their own clothes.

Karthus, who was now in a black satin robe with white trimmings, slipped a white porcelain mask over his withering face, and turned to Olaf and Yorick. "What do you think? Too much?"

"Very enigmatic..." Yorick mumbled. "I like it."

Karthus also seemed pleased with his choice of attire, as he admired the mask in a mirror, turning his head to view his concealed face from different angles. His jaw suddenly dropped, however, as he continued staring in the mirror. "Oh, my..."

"Okay, Karthus, take it easy." Olaf chuckled. "You don't look THAT fabulous."

"Not me, you imbecile!" Karthus hissed, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Sona..."

Olaf and Yorick turned to see Sona approaching, in a very elegant-looking robe of red and gold, decorated with stars. "Er... isn't that more of a Snowdown-looking outfit?" Yorick asked.

Sona crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at the Gravedigger.

"As long as it's not black and spiky, she can wear whatever she likes!" LeBlanc said hurriedly, grabbing Sona and ushering her towards the still closed curtain. "Now get to your places so LeBlanc can start this show! Karthus, you're on!"

Karthus glanced back at Olaf and Yorick. "I apologize, friends, but my audience...awaits." Karthus turned with a flourish, gliding over to the curtain, and taking a microphone while still hidden by the velvety drapes. Clearing his throat, Karthus spoke in an ethereal voice. "Ladies and gentlemen of Bilgewater, prepare your eyes and minds for an exquisite presentation of the world of illusion, which shall leave witnesses in disbelief at the spectacle before them! Allow us to take you into a realm of magic and mystery! And here is your guide for this journey, the Prestigious LeBlanc!"

LeBlanc pushed her way through the curtain and was greeted by the loud cheers of bored pirates waiting to see some magic tricks. "Thank you, thank you! The Prestigious LeBlanc thanks you all!" The Deciever's voice could be heard as the applause died down. "You are such a wonderful audience, LeBlanc can tell! Why not share some of your love for her assistant? Let's hear it for the Maven of the Strings, Sona!"

Sona emerged from backstage, and due to her already established popularity as a musician, received even heartier cheers than LeBlanc, though not without a few rather crude requests from more bold or intoxicated audience members. Sona ignored the catcalls, however, and simply waved with a smile.

"Now then, Sona," LeBlanc walked over, putting a hand on Sona's shoulder. "Do you know anything about magic or illusion?" Sona shook her head, a clear 'no'. "Well!" LeBlanc exclaimed, raising her staff. "Let the Prestigious LeBlanc demonstrate!"

There was an explosion of sparks, and a bouquet of flowers emerged from the tip of LeBlanc's staff. To be exact, it was a bouquet of black roses. Sona wasn't too fond of the color, and they didn't exactly look as if they would smell as nice as more ordinary roses, but for the sake of the show, she carefully took the bouquet, hoping there were no thorns to worry about, and cheerfully sniffed at the blossoms.

Olaf and Yorick, who were up on the catwalk managing lights and other technical workings, watched the scene from above.

"Not quite Sona's style." Olaf said of the black roses. "And they look odd with how bright and colorful she is right now. Those look like flowers you'd have at a funeral."

"And what is wrong with that?" Yorick asked, raising an indignant eyebrow before being interrupted by LeBlanc.

"And now LeBlanc's lovely assistant has volunteered herself for a number of dangerous and deadly demonstrations!" LeBlanc said, her voice low and dangerous as she spoke. "What do you say, Bilgewater? Shall we get started?"

The audience was a tempest of emotion, some wanting to get on with the magic, others showing concern for the pretty Sona. Either way, they were interested, and LeBlanc was perfectly fine with that.

* * *

Outside in the lobby, Mordekaiser was standing in an empty theater, overhearing what was going on. These weren't the tricks LeBlanc was performing last show, at least not from what they had heard from inside before their conflict with Jericho Swain. LeBlanc must have been taking advantage of having new assistants and reworking the show, if only for one performance. Mordekaiser grumbled to himself. The rest of the band was having fun backstage, and here he was as a bouncer in an empty room. Even just some company would have been nice.

A loud rapping at the window pulled Mordekaiser from his thoughts. The Master of Metal turned to see Swain tapping on the window with his cane._ Be careful what you wish for,_ Mordekaiser groaned to himself with a sigh as he opened the theater's door. "Are you back on security duty?" Mordekaiser asked, glancing down at Swain.

"You wish." Swain muttered. "I saw you alone in here and was wondering what had happened to Lady Buvelle."

"Apparently, she is your friend's assistant in some sort of dangerous illusions." Mordekaiser explained.

"Damn you, Emilia!" Swain hissed, tapping the floor with his cane in frustration. "If any harm befalls her..."

"She is an illusionist, is she not?" Mordekaiser asked, leaning on his morningstar. "Sona should be perfectly safe."

"She can clone herself, yes." Swain sighed. "Along with other objects, but she's not exactly the greatest escape artist in Runeterra. There may be... _mistakes_."

While Swain could not see Mordekaiser's face, the Master Tactician could hear an identically grave tone in the Shadow Isles lord's voice. "Just what would LeBlanc have planned?" Mordekaiser asked.

Swain sighed, shaking his head in uncertainty, until a poster on the wall caught his eye. "Oh, gods..." the Noxian general whispered. "Oh, Emilia, what have you done?"

Mordekaiser stepped over to look at the poster. "Ah, Yorick was looking at that po-" Mordekaiser stopped mid-sentence, realization hitting harder than any amount of steel could. "General Swain, you don't suppose-"

"No, I DON'T suppose, Mordekaiser." Swain said in uncharacteristic nervousness. "I _know._"

The two generals gazed in horror at the poster's tale: A young maiden being buried alive with the hopes that she would re-emerge with her life intact.


	6. 40 and a Half Hours Remaining

**Night One, 7:30 PM (40.5 Hours Remaining)**

The lights in the theater had dimmed, with a single pale spotlight focusing on center stage, where Yorick was lowering a coffin into an opened trapdoor as Karthus sang a soft, melancholy dirge. Sona was standing in her usual silence beside the Deathsinger, her head bowed slightly as she still held the black roses from earlier.

"Anyone who is familiar with the Fields of Justice knows of the gifts of the Prestigious LeBlanc, being able to duplicate herself and fool her enemies!" LeBlanc was standing to the side, explaining the situation. "It has never had a positive impact on this trick for her, since it's just too easy! However, what if LeBlanc was to perform this trick with another? Well, you're a very special audience, Bilgewater, because for the first and only time, you will get to see what happens!"

* * *

Outside the theater, Mordekaiser and Swain (along with his precious raven) were against the door, listening in on LeBlanc, clearly hearing her over the deathly silence from the audience.

"Why do we not just burst in?" Mordekaiser asked impatiently. "I am not going to lose my keyboardist because you chose to wait!"

"If this performance fails, Noxus's reputation as a whole will suffer! We'll be a magical laughingstock, and I simply can't have that." Swain replied. "We have to fool these drunken idiots into thinking this is all part of the show."

Mordekaiser muttered something quietly about where Swain could put Noxus's reputation, then sighed a heavy, ringing sigh. "Very well...what is the plan?"

Swain glanced at his left shoulder and nodded. Beatrice seemed to slowly nod in return without so much as a blink of an eye, and Swain opened the door ever so slightly, the hinges creaking softly in protest. "Go." he ordered the raven in a soft whisper.

Beatrice thrust her cruel beak into the doorway's gap, holding it open as Swain knelt down, tenderly picked up the bird, and placed her gently on the lobby floor. The Master Tactician watched as his pet forced her way through the door, pushing with her beak until she was able to hop to the other side of the doorway. The moment Beatrice moved her head away from the heavy wooden door, however, it slammed shut with a bang.

Swain held his breath, and Mordekaiser had no need for such a mortal action. They both heard a croaking squawk from the other side of the door, and a flap of mighty wings. "I know you, Emilia..." Swain whispered to no one in particular. "I know you won't be fazed by this..."

* * *

"Ah, the raven, a symbol of death since the dawn of time!" LeBlanc could be heard to exclaim as Beatrice soared over her head. "Is this an unfortunate omen for our young, beautiful Lady Buvelle?"

Swain sighed with relief at LeBlanc's words. She had made it all part of the act now. Things may have just been made easier.

Despite her speech, LeBlanc was staring incredulously up at the raven, who stared back at her from its perch atop a hanging light. _That's Beatrice..._ _What are you still doing here, Jericho?_ _Never mind. I, excuse me, the Prestigious LeBlanc, has a show to put on._

"Gravedigger, is Lady Buvelle's tomb prepared?" LeBlanc asked in a loud, clear voice.

"Yes, oh Prestigious LeBlanc." Yorick mumbled his reply, trying not to gag at his script.

Karthus finished his song as Yorick stepped back from the makeshift grave, and the Deathsinger solemnly turned to Sona, enjoying his role significantly more than poor Yorick. "It is time, my lady." he said in not much more than a whisper, offering Sona his hand.

The Maven of the Strings took Karthus's ghastly hand, and the two quietly walked to the open trapdoor together. Sona glanced down into the hole, curious as to what her so-called 'tomb' looked like. It was a simple wooden coffin, though it looked like a few blankets had been laid out, along with a soft feather pillow. Yorick had certainly put effort into making her comfortable.

"Lie in the tomb," Karthus commanded, "And have no fear of death. The Prestigious LeBlanc will save thee." Sona nodded, but had to hide a smirk at the change in Karthus's now bitter tone. He clearly disliked the idea of anyone being saved from death. It may very well have physically pained the lich to say those words.

Sona plucked one of the ebony roses from her bouquet, and gave it to Karthus. She then stepped into the coffin, smoothing out her sky-blue hair as she carefully sat down and let her head fall back on the soft, fluffy pillow. It was rather funny how something designed for a corpse was capable of being so comfy. Sona looked up at Karthus, who was now leaning over the grave, holding up the coffin's lid.

"Now close your eyes, my lady, and open your arms to accept death's embrace..." Karthus said gently, before carefully closing the coffin's lid, and leaving Sona in the dark. He then laid his rose on the shut coffin's lid, then retreated as Yorick stepped forward to begin piling dirt on the casket.

* * *

Sona could hear the thud of dirt landing on the hollow wood of her coffin. Closing her eyes, she chose to just enjoy the softness of the warm blankets around her until LeBlanc got her out. This wasn't so bad when you knew there was a way out just around the corner.

* * *

"How will we know if something goes wrong?" Mordekaiser asked, still by the lobby's door.

"My bird will let us know." Swain said calmly. "At Beatrice's signal, we will enter, and get Lady Buvelle out by any means possible. I don't care if you have to break that stage apart, just do it. You may be able to get away with dead musicians, but I don't think the rest of Valoran would be so pleased to hear of Lady Buvelle's demise. And I am not going to a concert to see a decaying woman perform, no matter how beautiful the music."

"Oh, like you Noxians have a problem with resurrection." Mordekaiser muttered. "I do believe Urgot and Si-"

"We are getting off the subject, Lord Mordekaiser!" Swain said quickly, waving a hand frantically to shut Mordekaiser up. "I won't be as merciful as earlier today if you go about spilling Noxian secrets!"

Mordekaiser remained silent. Now was not the time. "So if all goes well, we do nothing. But the second something goes wrong, we strike?"

"Precisely. Just go in and tear that stage-"

"You only need to explain once, fool." Mordekaiser growled. "Let's just wait for your signal."

* * *

The sound of soil hitting wood was no longer reaching Sona's ears. The coffin must have already been covered by a generous amount of dirt. It was growing warm inside the casket, and a little stuffy. Sona stayed calm, taking slow, deep breaths. Not much longer now. She couldn't even hear as LeBlanc was speaking, but it couldn't be that much longer... could it?

* * *

Yorick piled the last of the dirt on the coffin, and the stage's trapdoor was shut.

"A moment, please, for our brave volunteer, stepping willingly into the jaws of death!" LeBlanc exclaimed with a dramatic flourish of her staff.

Many of the audience members removed caps and bandanas from their heads as Karthus began to recite a short elegy from his songbook. The Deathsinger was rather enjoying the silence that accompanied his song, until he saw the ink on his page suddenly blot. A water droplet? Karthus looked up while singing, and a second droplet landed on his snow-white mask, resembling a tear falling from the mask's eye as it trickled down the porcelain's surface. It was not Karthus's tear, however, and he glanced up to see Olaf wiping his eyes with his beard up on the catwalk.

"Sorry!" the Berserker whispered down. Karthus scowled, but continued his requiem.

LeBlanc, meanwhile, was readying a spell, her staff glowing brightly. As Karthus held the last, somber note of his dirge, the Deceiver spoke again. "And now, the Prestigious LeBlanc shall use her powers of duplication to bring forth Lady Buvelle's tomb, and her within it!"

The staff flashed brightly with light, and a coffin identical to the one that had been buried materialized, to the audience's tumultuous applause. Yorick and Karthus walked over to both sides of the coffin, and opened the lid together as the audience gasped with anticipation.

In the silence, Yorick stared into the coffin. "She's not here." he said bluntly, which incited more feelings of terror in the theater's spectators.

"Not here?!" LeBlanc exclaimed, clearing her throat. Yorick and Karthus stared at her, and then each other. Was she nervous?! Either spontaneous stage fright struck, or something was not right. "Well!" LeBlanc waved her staff again. "Then I shall bring forth Lady Buvelle's tomb from the earth, and we shall pull her out of her despair!"

Karthus noted that LeBlanc had not bothered to speak in the third person this time. Now he KNEW something was wrong.

Another flash of light, and a second coffin appeared, this one with some dirt still sitting on the lid. Yorick and Karthus opened this lid, though not quite with the same synchronization to their movements. "This one is empty, too!" Karthus hissed.

"Oh, dear..." Yorick groaned. "Look closer, Deathsinger..."

Karthus and LeBlanc took a closer look at the coffin, and LeBlanc almost felt ill when she could clearly see the imprint of a young woman pressed into the blankets. This was the genuine tomb... minus one Maven of the Strings. Sona had not been transported, and was currently trapped in six feet of dirt.

A moment later, a raven's cry pierced the tense silence.

* * *

Sona felt the soft warmth of blankets suddenly yanked out from underneath her, and replaced with the cold dampness of freshly tilled earth. She opened her eyes, only to quickly shut them again when she felt tiny clumps of dirt threatening to fall into her exposed orbs. Sona then tried to move her hands, but a heavy weight kept them down. She couldn't move her limbs, open her eyes, and she certainly wasn't going to try and open her mouth.

Breathing through her nose didn't provide much for her, either, assuming dirt particles wouldn't fly up her nostrils if she tried. She was trapped, and her way out had vanished into thin air...or the lack of it. All she could do was keep her mouth tightly shut and hang in there for as long as she could...and pray her friends knew something had gone wrong.

* * *

At Beatrice's signal, Swain exclaimed, "NOW!", and threw the door open with his cane.

Mordekaiser required no further commands. He was dashing down the aisle, morningstar in hand, ignoring the screams of the terrified audience. It was bad enough that Sona was apparently trapped six feet under now, but now Mordekaiser was here in the theater!? This was too much for most of the show's patrons, except for one pirate who yelled, "Rock on, Pentakill!" It was obviously a local who had been to the concert last night and recognized LeBlanc's new staff, and his cheer brought a few others out of their blind panic, and they too began to applaud Mordekaiser's arrival, as well as Olaf's, as the Berserker had dashed down from the catwalk to assist.

"Where is she!?" Swain demanded as his raven soared down from the lights to land on his shoulder.

"In there." Yorick answered, pointing to the sealed trapdoor.

"Grab your shovel, Gravedigger, and all of you step back. Mordekaiser, get in there!"

Mordekaiser's crimson eyes glowed fiercely under his helmet, and his morningstar seemed to spark with new life as he lifted the weapon over his head and swung down with all his might. The sound of splintering and breaking wood echoed through the theater as the trapdoor was not only torn off of its hinges, but snapped in two, a few planks around the door being damaged as well. Swain and LeBlanc quickly removed the two halves of the useless door, as Yorick began to frantically dig with his spade, with Olaf assisting with his bare hands. There wasn't much time left before Sona would likely succumb to the lack of air around her.

* * *

Sona was now trying her hardest to stay calm, but her mind was in a panic. This was it. She was going to die, no questions asked. Her vision was going black, and she felt dizzy and faint. She thought she felt low, heavy vibrations in the dirt around her, as if heavy footsteps were running towards her location. Perhaps she was having flashbacks of the Rift, and a larger champion was charging towards her. She didn't even know at this point.

As she drifted into unconsciousness, she felt the weight around her lifting. Her body was giving up. She then heard what sounded like a raven screaming. Or was it a crow? Fiddlesticks? No, there was only one bird, she was sure. Not enough for Fiddles.

"I...red!...Get her!"

What?

Light suddenly flooded into Sona's vision, and she was forced to shut her eyes even tighter as air poured into her lungs, revitalizing her. Shaking off her dizziness, she felt clammy but powerful hands lift her out of the dirt. It had to be Yorick. Sona, exhausted as she was, smiled. This was why she put up with the members of Pentakill, paying for their rooms, and dealing with their eccentricities.

As she often did for them, her friends had come through for her.

* * *

Yorick kept Sona in an upright position in his arms as she violently (but soundlessly) coughed. The rest of Pentakill had gathered around to make sure their keyboardist was still in one piece, as Swain ushered the audience away. "Go on, get out of here, show's over! It's not like any of you pirates paid to get in anyway!"

A combination of disappointed grumbles and relieved cheers could be heard as the citizens of Bilgewater filed out, discussing the chaos they had just witnessed.

Swain nodded in satisfaction as the last of the pirates departed, before whirling on LeBlanc. "Emilia, what the hell were you thinking!? You could have very easily gotten Lady Buvelle killed! If I wasn't here..."

While Swain continued his furious rant, the band members were just happy to have Sona back, dead or alive. Neither would have been an issue for them, but they weren't sure how all right with undeath Sona herself would have been. "I suppose the show's over..." Yorick chuckled.

"Yep, guess so." Olaf nodded. "Hey, show's over? What about our ad?"

"That's right!" Karthus glanced over at LeBlanc. "Er, I hate to interrupt you, General Swain, but we had a deal with your illusionist friend here."

"Oh, yes, yes, your advertisement." LeBlanc muttered. "The Prestigious LeBlanc would normally say you metal hooligans ruined her show, but, ahem...given the circumstances," she continued under the wrathful eye of Swain, "I shall perform the duplication spell. Where is the document?"

Karthus wordlessly pulled the advertisement out of its place in his songbook, and in a flash of light, he was no longer holding one paper, but fifty.

"Thank you for your business, Deciever." Mordekaiser said with only the smallest hint of an angry snarl as the band walked towards the lobby and the theater's exit. "Now if you will kindly excuse us, we have Pentakill business to attend to!"


	7. Night One, 8 PM (40 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 8 PM (40 Hours Remaining)**

Under the dark night sky, the Pentakill crew was now standing outside of LeBlanc's theater, Yorick still carrying the dizzied Sona. Karthus divided the fifty advertisements amongst his comrades, ten for each member of the band. "Now, here's the plan-"

"Wait just a moment, Deathsinger!" Mordekaiser growled. "Who here is the Shadow Isles general, anyway? I will be making any and all plans, thank you!"

"Very well, Lord Mordekaiser." Karthus sighed, rolling his eyes. Mordekaiser loved the concept of being the leader, but he wasn't always keen on the planning portion of leadership, unless it just so happened to suit him and his purposes at the moment.

Mordekaiser cleared his throat, a low rumble with an reverberating clang, sounding something like the last echoes of a funeral bell's toll as he waved his team closer to him. "Now, then, the plan." The Master of Metal spoke in a low, quiet tone as the band huddled around him. "Karthus has divided the papers amongst us, and we will cover more of Bilgewater if we split up. Karthus, since we all know you are lazy and dislike moving much, you will cover this street here."

"Whoever said I was lazy?" Karthus asked indignantly, crossing his robed arms.

"That robe does." Olaf pointed out. "You're still wearing the costume LeBlanc loaned you."

Sona looked down at her ensemble and frowned. She needed to go return her clothes to LeBlanc as well...after washing off all the dirt and other bits of sediment that were sticking to the fabric.

Karthus seemed at least slightly abashed as well, removing his thin porcelain mask and slipping it into the pocket of the ebony robes.

Olaf teasingly covered his eyes as Karthus's face was revealed. "Aaah! It burns! Put it back on!"

Karthus glared at Olaf in response, opening his songbook threateningly.

"Enough!" Mordekaiser barked. "As I was saying, Karthus will cover this main street. Yorick, take Sona back to Fortune's Favor so that she can rest, and have Miss Fortune assist Sona with passing out her share of the flyers. When you have finished with that, head to the docks. Olaf, you can blend in the easiest within the bars and taverns, so you will go there. Be sure to hand an ad to each of the barkeeps, word should spread quickly that way. And do try and stay sober; We are on a mission."

"No promises." Olaf shrugged.

"Good man." Mordekaiser nodded. "As for me, I plan to contact the Institute of War, and inform our fellow champions of our quest."

"Do you think any of them will even be interested?" Yorick asked curiously.

"I highly doubt it, with the possible exception of our fellow Shadow Isles denizens." Mordekaiser replied glumly. "However, I suppose it is worth a shot nonetheless."

"One of three things will happen." Karthus said with a chuckle. "Option one: No champions will appear. Option two: Champions will audition, and none will be found suitable for our needs."

Sona held up three fingers curiously.

"Option three," Karthus concluded, "Is that a champion auditions and we consider them worthy to join the ranks of Pentakill. Unlikely, of course, but we are of the League of Legends, my friends. Anything is possible."

"Well, we will not find out unless these advertisements are sent far and wide." Mordekaiser stated firmly. "You have your orders, Pentakill - move out!"

* * *

**The Docks (Yorick)**

At Bilgewater's harbor, passersby were stopping in their tracks and gawking at the hunchbacked figure milling about, dragging a shovel behind him and attaching odd-looking papers to the outer hulls of various ships at the docks.

"Is that the champion Yorick?"

"What's he doing here? And what are those dumb little pieces of paper?"

"Avast ye, scallywag!" a voice suddenly shouted. The crowds in the street parted as a rather rough-looking pirate captain marched to the docks, where Yorick was currently taping a pair of advertisements over the somewhat exaggerated bust of a ship's Marai figurehead, and not paying an ounce of attention to the corsair now standing behind him. "What ye be doing to me darlin' Marai?" the pirate snapped.

"She needed extra clothing." Yorick explained without a hint of malice or sarcasm as he pointed to the twin advertisements hiding the figurehead's chest. "I need to post these ads. So I killed two birds with one stone."

"Advertisements for what, the modesty police!?" the captain bellowed. "Get those off of my ship NOW!"

"As you wish." Yorick heaved a deep sigh, removed the ads, and then turned to the still angrily glaring pirate. "Here you are." the Gravedigger said quietly as he handed the papers to the baffled buccaneer. However, when the pirate did not accept the advertisement, Yorick was more than satisfied with sticking one of the advertisements to the captain's tricorn hat. "That looks good on you."

"I don't want yer stupid ads!" the pirate shouted, tearing the advertisement off of his hat. "Captain Redbrand does not take kindly to solicitors, especially not yeller-bellied land-lubbing zombie solicitors like ye!"

"Please do not use the 'z' word in my presence." Yorick sighed, unfazed by Redbrand's rage. "It is quite offensive in my line of work."

Redbrand grumbled to himself, crumpling up the ad papers as he realized that intimidation was having near zero effect on Yorick. "If me words can't scare ye away," he growled after a moment of silence, "Perhaps me blade will!" Redbrand drew his saber with a flourish, sending nearby spectators scrambling with screams of terror. "En garde, ye zombie bilge rat!"

Yorick heaved another heavy sigh, lifting his shovel. He warned him not to use that word.

* * *

**Fortune's Favor (Sona)**

"Hey, Sona, that red gown you wanted washed is all clean now!" Miss Fortune called from the bar's counter. Sona, back in her standard blue dress, silently applauded from where she was sitting at the nearest table.

"I'll give it back to LeBlanc next time I see her, but I honestly think it would look better on you any day." Miss Fortune walked over to the table and pulled up a chair to sit across from Sona. "So how goes the advertisement quest? Yorick told me he was heading to the docks after he dropped you off."

Sona only nodded.

"Huh. Well, it's nice to see you all working together well, for the most part, at least." Miss Fortune shrugged. "Most of the time on the Rift, you get those awkward pairings that are forced to work together due to summoner magic, contracts, all that garbage. Take the other day, for example. I was on a team with Graves and Twisted Fate. I'm sure you've seen how those two feel about each other."

Sona nodded again with a grimace.

"You Pentakillers, though..." Miss Fortune sighed. "You bunch are some of the most feared and reviled folks in the League...well, not counting YOU, of course, Sona, no offense."

Sona shrugged with a sly grin to show no offense was taken.

"Even despite all that, though, you all seem to get along, on the stage and off of it. Not sure what it is..." Miss Fortune looked quizzically at Sona for a moment, and sighed. "Sorry about that, mostly just ranting to myself. Usually do that when it's quiet and nobody else is there to ruin the silence...no offense."

Sona good-naturedly rolled her eyes, giving the Bounty Hunter a second "None taken" shrug.

"Always a girl of few words." Miss Fortune laughed. "Anyway, I'm going to go and get these advertisements spread around the street for you. Help yourself to a complimentary glass of anything you like, but don't tell the rest of the band I ever said tha - Oh. Wait." Miss Fortune's hand flew up to her forehead as she realized what she said. "That sounded MUCH better in my head, sorry."

Sona raised a brow with a grin as she stood and walked to the bar. Grabbing a mug, she looked at the bar's menu, and found herself frowning. She then turned to Miss Fortune, and pointed to the taps. She couldn't find anything that wasn't alcoholic, much to her dismay.

"Wait...are you looking for something that won't get you drunk?" Miss Fortune asked as she stood with wide eyes at the tavern's entrance. "Umm...welcome to Bilgewater?"

Sona rolled her eyes, and simply poured a glass of water as Miss Fortune departed from the building. The Maven of the Strings happily sipped at her cup, enjoying the peace of the empty bar, until she swiftly put her mug down on the counter, making a sour face.

It was tonic water. Sona realized she had no beverage options that didn't taste awful, and let her face crash gracefully down onto the counter in despair.

* * *

**The Taverns (Olaf)**

Unlike Sona, Olaf was perfectly comfortable with getting drunk off his rocker, but he was trying his hardest to remain sober, as Mordekaiser had ordered. So far, he had been doing a good job; He had walked into nine taverns so far and not ordered a drop of ale, grog, beer, mead, whiskey, wine, or anything else that would have left him muddled. All he had to do was walk inside, hand an ad to the barkeeper, and walk away. It was a simple task, with the fact that many of Bilgewater's most popular bars were on the same street adding convenience to the Berserker's mission.

"And then there was one!" Olaf laughed, looking at his last advertisement as he stood at the entrance of Myron's Murderhole, the same pub where Pentakill had performed the previous night. The sound of drunken laughter could be heard beyond the heavy wooden doors, along with the clinking of foaming mugs. Olaf took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Maybe Karthus would have been suckered into a drink, but he had more willpower than that lush of a lich. _Just walk in, give him the ad, and walk out. Job's done._

After a couple more deep breaths to compose himself, Olaf walked into the tavern, moving towards the bar's counter with long, powerful strides. As the mangy-looking barkeeper waved in greeting, Olaf's arm extended to hand him the recruiting ad -

"Olaf!? Is that you, old friend?"

Olaf turned towards the gruff voice, and let out a hearty laugh. "Gragas!" The Berserker tromped over to Gragas's table, and clapped a hand on the Rabble Rouser's shoulder, shaking him vigorously. "What brings you to Bilgewater?"

"Business!" Gragas chortled, placing his trusty barrel-like keg on the table. "Trying to get one of the taverns to sell one of my recipes here." Though Gragas had very likely been sipping regularly at the barrel's contents, Olaf could still hear a heavy sloshing noise within, the splashing leaving him dumbfounded. _Does that thing EVER run out?!_

Gragas slid his mug under the keg's tap, and an amber-colored liquid streamed down into the cup. "Graggy Ice!" he bellowed, sliding the mug across tthe table to where Olaf had taken a seat. "Here, have a sample!"

"Oh, I really shouldn't-"

"Oh, what's one mug EVER done to a strong Freljordian like you? Live a little!"

Olaf considered Gragas's reasoning, stroking his beard. The Rabble Rouser had a point. One drink had never made him anywhere near sick. He could have one mug - just one - and feel no ill effects. With a shrug, Olaf lifted the mug to his lips and sipped. Within seconds, however, sipping turned into eager chugging, until the Berserker slammed the empty mug back down on the table. "Delicious!" he shouted, clapping Gragas on the shoulder again. "Is there any more?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Gragas laughed, taking the mug to refill it. "Bartender! Bring another mug here! No...bring more! There's plenty for everyone!"

As the entire tavern seemed to explode with cheers, the single advertisement left in Olaf's hand fluttered down to the wooden floor, with nobody seeming to notice.

* * *

**Main Street (Karthus)**

Karthus had managed to catch LeBlanc inside the theater to return the ghastly black robes to her before she left town, but in her haste to leave, and her desire to not interact any further with the Pentakillers, the Deceiver had instructed the Deathsinger to keep them. So Karthus, not bothering to waste time changing back into his standard attire, continued to rock his new phantom garb.

With LeBlanc and Swain gone, and no other shows performing, Bilgewater's main street had grown quiet. Karthus, enjoying the silence, glided up and down the boulevard, sticking his advertisements on walls at regular intervals. No sense in posting all ten of them in the same place, unless your name was LeBlanc, apparently. Karthus looked back at the wallpaper of posters lining the theater's exterior and cringed. What an eyesore in what otherwise was a perfectly pleasant street. It would take forever for all those ads to be taken down... Fortunately, for the citizens of Bilgewater, Karthus indeed had forever.

The Deathsinger stood in front of the theater, opening his songbook, mumbling to himself as he searched for the correct page. "No, not that one... _definitely_ not that one... Resurrection? Who wants that?... er, a-ha! Found it!"

Clearing his throat, Karthus quietly sang a brief incantation, then whispered softly, "Join me, my children...Release the world of this blight!"

From the pages of Karthus's book came the souls of the Deathsinger's many victims, encircling around him endlessly. The very air around Karthus seemed decayed as he pointed to the advertisements with a look of malice. As if on command, the souls circled faster around him, tearing gleefully at the advertisements at every opportunity.

Shreds of paper helplessly fell at Karthus's feet, dissipating into tiny wisps before vanishing into oblivion. Karthus smiled as brick wall began to appear between the damaged posters. "Yes, my choir!" he shrieked. "Remove this plague from my sight! Hmm...Those last two lines rhymed. I should write that down later."

The last poster dropped to the ground, with LeBlanc's face being the last part to fade away. Karthus shut his book, sending his souls back from whence they came, and glanced up in satisfaction at the bare brick wall. The citizens of Bilgewater would be thanking him in the morning.

"What!?" a voice shrieked from a nearby house's windowsill. "My flowers are all dead! What's going on out there!?"

Karthus's eyes widened, and after attaching his last advertisement to the theater's wall, made haste back to Fortune's Favor. So much for gratitude.

* * *

**Bilgewater Tourist Information and Guest Services (Mordekaiser)**

"So your answer is 'no' as well, Warden?" Mordekaiser asked glumly as he stood in the center of Bilgewater's tourism office.

"My apologies, Lord Mordekaiser, but the screams of my victims provide all the music I need." Thresh replied from the other side of the magical long-distance call a youthful Bilgewater representative had set up for Mordekaiser (a surprisingly simple procedure, similar to the telepathic links champions had to their summoners in Rift matches). "Besides, my chains are made for securing people, living or otherwise. Not mere objects."

"Our instruments are no mere objects, Warden." Mordekaiser growled.

"Be that as it may, Lord, my answer is still no." Thresh sighed. "What about Hecarim, have you asked him? Or Elise or Maokai?"

"Hecarim IMMEDIATELY took offense to being used as a beast of burden, so to speak." Mordekaiser could not explain the Shadow of War's response without chuckling. "Elise refuses to leave Vilemaw, no surprise there, and Maokai has been against the idea of carrying _anything_ since the champions' practical joke last Snowdown."

"A pity." Thresh said. "The Treant was an interesting Snowdown decoration. My chains made a very nice garland, too."

"It cannot be helped, I suppose. Perhaps Pentakill is simply not meant to expand its ranks." Mordekiaser heaved a heavy sigh.

"Do not lose hope yet, my lord, as awful as that sounds." Thresh said quickly. "There are still many other champions, and one more day."

"Yes, you are right, Warden. There is still a chan-" Mordekaiser paused as he heard a shriek from Thresh's side of the conversation. "What was that?"

"Oh, another one just came in." Thresh replied. "Time for me to go to work. The best of luck to you, Lord Mordekaiser." And with that, Mordekaiser's mind cleared as the connection between him and Thresh was severed.

"Is there anyone else you need to call, Mord- I mean, _Lord_ Mordekaiser?" the Bilgewater representative standing nearby asked quietly.

"Just one more." Mordekaiser replied. "Contact the Institute of War."

"Just a moment, please." The representative then glanced through a large book titled Key Locations of Valoran, found the appropriate page, and mumbled an incantation under his breath. "Okay, I'm getting a response...Hmm... Ok, here you go."

Mordekaiser felt a tug in his brain again as a voice echoed in his skull. "_Thank you for contacting the Institute of War. If you are calling regarding champion application and Judgment processes, please say 'one'. For Tribunal cases and reporting, say 'two'. For item balance whining, say 'three'. For Irelia nerfing, say 'four'. Para obter ajuda em Português, dizer 'cinco' -_"

"Champion residential units!" Mordekaiser grumbled.

There was a brief pause, before the obnoxiously cheerful voice continued. "_You wish to contact the champion residential units. Please state your name and place of residence before proceeding._"

"Mordekaiser... and I live in the champion residential units!" Now the Master of Metal's patience was running thin.

"_Thank you. Your name and place of residence have been noted for our records. Please note that calling to fan-squeal over any champion is considered an annoyance, and unnecessarily clogs up our lines. If this is your purpose for calling, please hang up now, we don't want you._"

"I AM one of your champions!" Mordekaiser roared. "Just let me send a message to the lobby!"

Another pause as Mordekaiser seethed with rage, until: "You will now be connected to the champion residential lobby. Please be aware that your message may be recorded for security purposes. We hope we have provided you with satisfactory assistance. Please leave your message at the tone."

Mordekaiser only cursed the imaginary voice with his worst vocabulary, up until the second he heard a light ringing sound. "_Champions of the League_," Mordekaiser spoke in a clear, solemn voice. _"This is Lord Mordekaiser speaking. Pentakill is in dire need of your help. Our time is nearly up to find a roadie to carry our supplies. If you are in the least bit interested, please come to Bilgewater tomorrow to audition! You'll find our many advertisements scattered around town. We anticipate the arrival of all the souls brave enough to make an appearance!_"

Mordekaiser then glanced at the Bilgewater representative standing nearby and nodded, waiting for the telepathic call to be dropped. When his mind was cleared, the Master of Metal stepped towards the tourism office's doorway, ready to leave.

"Anything else, Lord Mordekaiser?" the young tourism rep asked.

"Unless you can conjure a roadie for us, I doubt it." Mordekaiser muttered as he opened the door to leave the office. As he stepped outside, and slammed the door shut, he silently hoped that his comrades had made better progress than he did. With a hint of unease, the Shadow Isles general decided that it was time to check in on his bandmembers.


	8. Night One, 10 PM (38 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 10 PM (38 Hours Remaining)**

Mordekaiser was trudging towards Fortune's Favor, still haunted by the bitter rejection he had suffered at the hands of his fellow Shadow Islanders, when he heard a familiar shriek.

"_Aaaaaaaah! Lord Mordekaiseeeeeeeer!_"

Mordekaiser squinted, looking further up the street, and he saw Karthus gliding towards him at top speed. The lich actually slammed into the Master of Metal with a clang, and

Mordekaiser had to practically shake Karthus off of him. "What has gotten into you, Deathsinger!?" he bellowed.

"Get me out of here..." Karthus whispered, now hiding behind Mordekaiser and clinging to his arm like a small child.

Mordekaiser sighed. Just what he needed. "And what did you manage to do this time?"

"I, er..." Karthus's mumbling was hardly audible. "I defiled a woman's flowers."

Mordekaiser whirled around and stared in amused disbelief at the lich. "You what now!? Sweet misery, Karthus, what have you been doing all this time!? Was she at least a charming one?"

Karthus's face wrinkled a little in confusion, until he got what Mordekaiser meant, and his look of bewilderment swiftly contorted into a furious glare. "Nothing like that, my lord! I literally caused a woman's windowsill garden to decay into nothing!"

Mordekaiser didn't even blink. "And?" he asked. "Death has never disturbed you before. In fact, you actually rather relish it. Why are you bothered now?"

"There you are!" a feminine voice screamed, followed by the sound of porcelain breaking at Mordekaiser's feet. Marching down the street towards the undead duo was a woman who looked like she could take a few of Bilgewater's worst down in a bar fight, and she was viciously chucking empty flowerpots at Mordekaiser and Karthus.

"This is what frightened you, Karthus!?" Mordekaiser guffawed. "Really!? We could tear this woman's soul out of her body in an instant!"

"Suuuuure, if you want the Institute of War after us!" Karthus hissed. "I'd rather not be arrested for murder outside of the Fields of Justice!"

"What's the worst that could happen?" Mordekaiser shrugged.

Karthus grabbed Mordekaiser's shoulders and replied, "Ask Nocturne the next time you see him. Go on. I dare you."

Mordekaiser silently considered Karthus's words. "Fair enough, Deathsinger. I think I speak for both of us when I say our freedom is preferred over the alternative."

"What do we do, then, Lord Mordekaiser?" Karthus asked as the flowerpot-flinging woman drew closer.

"The only thing we can do..." Mordekaiser yelled, grabbing Karthus by the wrist. "Run!" The Master of Metal began to sprint down the street, dragging the Deathsinger behind him.

"Lord Mordekaiser?" Karthus asked, looking behind him. "I do not mean to put any unnecessary pressure on us, but _she's gaining on us, do something!_"

"Your wall!" Mordekaiser shouted, over the clanging of his heavy footsteps. "Use your wall!"

"Er, yes! Wall, wall!" Karthus struggled to open his book with one hand (his other hand still useless due to Mordekaiser's vise-like grip on his wrist), thumbing carefully through the pages. "Ah! Here!" Karthus waved a hand, murmuring a brief incantation under his breath. A wall of silvery-blue light appeared out of thin air, causing his and Mordekaiser's attacker to scream in fright, stopping in her tracks.

"Does she know that won't kill her?" Mordekaiser asked with a chuckle as he ran out of sight, leaving the woman glaring at him angrily from the other side of the ghastly wall for a moment before she departed with a huff.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Or more importantly, _us_." Karthus replied quickly. "Now put me down, she's obviously not chasing us anymore."

Mordekaiser nodded, slowing down and releasing Karthus. "Apologies for that." he chortled. "I'm not quite as good at rescuing allies as our friend Thresh."

"We got out of there, that's what matters." Karthus sighed with relief. "Speaking of Thresh, how did it go getting ahold of him and the other Shadow Islanders?"

"Did I get ahold of them? Yes." Mordekaiser sighed bitterly. "Were any of them interested? No."

"Curses." Karthus groaned. "Well, if it is any consolation, my advertisements have been placed. All we can do now is check on the others. Perhaps they have returned to Fortune's Favor?"

"It won't hurt to check." Mordekaiser replied. "I'm anticipating good news from them. Let's not keep them waiting."

* * *

"What do you mean, they aren't here?" Mordekaiser asked in surprise.

Sona could only shrug in reply.

"We mean just that," Miss Fortune sighed from the bar's counter. "They're not here. Yorick showed up to drop Sona off here and explain what happened with LeBlanc, then he went to drop off his advertisements. That was about an hour and a half ago. Nobody's walked in since."

"Speaking of which," Karthus asked. "Where are all the customers? It's nighttime, so everybody's at the bars, but every time we have been in here, the tavern's been empty, with the exception of you and the bandmembers."

"I've never gotten as many customers as Myron's." Miss Fortune explained, removing a flintlock from its holster to play with the safety. "Probably because I have zero tolerance for the thieves and brawlers around here. They know not to come in here with that attitude, so they don't come in at all. Since my customers are a more peaceful lot, they're not interested in coming in right now, due to the current circumstances."

"What current circumstances, Fortune?" Mordekaiser asked.

"How about the fact that I've got three dead guys with a passion for death and screaming hanging around here?" Miss Fortune snapped. "They'd probably love Sona, don't get me wrong, but other than your music, which is a pretty acquired taste anyway, you don't have the best reputation amongst the living."

"Fine, fine." Mordekaiser muttered. "This doesn't explain what happened to the other two, though. Olaf disappearing, I'm honestly not too surprised. Yorick, however? This isn't like him."

"Perhaps something happened to him?" Karthus asked in a concerned tone.

"Oh, please!" Miss Fortune groaned. "He's already dead, what's the worst that could happen? Yorick's a capable guy, we've all seen him on the Rift."

"Even less reason for him to not be here." Karthus pointed out. "He's usually very punctual. Let's face it, other than Sona here, Yorick's likely the most responsible and dutiful out of all of us regarding the band. Him disappearing is something he wouldn't do without letting one of us know."

"Okay, relax." Miss Fortune holstered her flintlock again, reaching under the bar's counter to pull out a small map of the city. "Mordekaiser, where did you send him?"

"The docks." Mordekaiser answered promptly.

"All right, go check there then. Maybe he's just having a hard time finding places to put his ads. Most pirates don't like their ships or other property being touched, and the docks don't provide a lot of other places to hang papers. What about Olaf, where'd he go?"

"He went to the taverns." Karthus replied. "We're not too concerned with him. He's probably drunk off his beard right now. I could easily go and fetch him-"

"Oh, no, you don't." Mordekaiser tightly gripped Karthus's shoulder. "I am NOT going to wind up with TWO drunk bandmembers. I am going to retrieve Yorick, and will return shortly. Fortune, Sona, keep an eye on Karthus. If he tries anything, do whatever you like to keep him sitting down."

"Can I shoot him?" Miss Fortune asked almost gleefully.

"What!?" Karthus exclaimed. "Absolutely not, madam!"

"I don't see why not." Mordekaiser shrugged. "He's already dead, so you won't hurt him much."

"I'm touched, Lord Mordekaiser." Karthus scowled. "I'm really feeling the Shadow Isles camaraderie here."

"I'm glad to hear it." Mordekaiser replied with a cold laugh. "Now don't go anywhere. I'll be right back, and then we will ALL go to pick up the Berserker from the taverns."

The door to the tavern slammed shut, and the remaining trio looked at each other. "Who does he think we are?" Karthus asked angrily. "We are champions of the League just as he is! We can take care of ourselves!"

Sona placed a hand on Karthus's shoulder to calm him down, tracing a heart in the air with a finger.

"What do you mean, it's because he _cares_?" Karthus hissed. "We are beings of the Shadow Isles, my lady! Caring and compassion are emotions far beneath us!"

Sona only raised an eyebrow at Karthus, and pointed to the red dress folded neatly on a nearby table, referring to the incident during LeBlanc's magic show.

"For the most part." Karthus muttered to save face. "You're an exception. You are a member of Pentakill, after all. What would we do without our keyboardist? Besides, you being alive is rather helpful to us; Many fans would be quite upset if you were to meet an untimely demise."

Sona only rolled her eyes. Excuses. She knew Mordekaiser and Karthus would never openly admit that they considered the rest of the band friends. After all, they had their fearsome reputations as deathly denizens of the Shadow Isles to uphold. However, the Maven of the Strings was certain that Miss Fortune was right: the bandmembers had an unshakable bond of some sort, and they didn't need to enslave each other's souls to get along. As for Yorick... well, he was so quiet all the time, that Sona wasn't sure how he felt, but she hoped that he harbored similar feelings.

There was a sudden thudding at the door, and Olaf stepped inside the tavern, surprisingly without wobbling. "Sorry I'm late." he said, sitting down with the trio at the table.

"Wait, you're not drunk?" Karthus and Miss Fortune asked in unison as one of the old, wooden chairs creaked under Olaf's weight.

"No, of course not!" Olaf bellowed. "What does everyone here think I am, some weak-willed Freljordian obsessed with the drink?"

The tavern was silent other than the awkward clearing of throats.

"Right. Thanks for that." Olaf muttered.

"Apologies, that was rather rude of us." Karthus said quickly. "Welcome back. Did you get your advertisements out?"

"Yeah, each of the taverns has one now." Olaf replied. "Well, almost. Gragas took the last ad, that's what held me up, but the tavern at least knows what's going on, and will spread the word tomorrow."

"Excellent." Karthus said with a smile, tapping his bony fingers together like an evil villain of old. "All of the advertisements have found a home on the streets of Bilgewater. Now all we do is wait for a brave soul to answer our call."

"Wait a second." Olaf scratched his head. "Where are Yorick and Morde?"

"Yorick may still be at the docks, Lord Mordekaiser went to go and pick him up." Karthus explained.

"Well, what are we waiting for then?!" Olaf roared, rising from his seat and shoving the poor, innocent chair over. "Why are we just sitting here, let's go get them!" Without waiting for the others, Olaf stomped over to the door, and burst out of the tavern. "For Pentakiiiiiiill!"

Karthus and Sona looked at each other, shrugged, and got out of their seats (much more gracefully) to follow their Freljordian friend as he rushed to the docks.

* * *

When Mordekaiser had nearly arrived at the docks, he could see a large crowd huddled together further up the street. Every once in a while, he could hear the mass of people gasp in shock, and he felt the lightest ripples of energy flow through him. Someone was in some sort of pain right now, and while the Master of Metal had made it a point after joining the League and forming Pentakill to be more casual where the suffering of others was concerned (being on good or at least decent terms with the Institute of War was important), he could not deny the fact that it gave him pleasure to hear those agonized screams. Approaching the crowd, Mordekaiser could see Yorick standing on a pier, holding an angry-looking pirate by his ankles over the water. Onlookers turned from the scene as they heard Mordekaiser's heavy footsteps and gasped in fright at the sight of him. "Stand aside!" Mordekaiser commanded with a wave of his hand. The sea of observers parted, creating a wide path for Mordekaiser as he strode through the crowd, walking onto the pier to stand beside Yorick, who was still dangling the pirate over the water.

"Now, then," Yorick droned quietly, looking the pirate in the eye. "Are you going to apologize for the hurtful words you uttered earlier?"

Mordekaiser had to hold back a laugh. This poor rogue must have called Yorick a zombie or a similar term. That explained everything. Despite Yorick's silence, Mordekaiser and Karthus had known him long enough to know he was a sensitive soul, and when someone upset him, well, it was their funeral.

"No zombie's going to get an apology from Captain Redbrand!" the corsair shouted in response.

"You just don't learn, do you?" Yorick asked, shaking his head before turning to Mordekaiser. "I apologize for being late, my lord, but this pirate needed to be taught a lesson."

"No need, Gravedigger." Mordekaiser said, smirking under his helmet. "I must say, this pirate's misery was a pleasant surprise. I'm almost hoping he doesn't apologize."

"Ye undead idiots just don't quit!" Redbrand shouted, a hand firmly planted on his head to keep his precious hat from falling into the sea.

"Neither do you, it seems." Mordekaiser replied. "I could always order the Gravedigger to drop you. Tell me, what is Bilgewater's situation concerning flesh-eating sharks? I seem to recall a certain champion of the League that is rather fond of them."

"Threaten me all ye like!" Redbrand screamed, swinging back and forth a little in Yorick's grip. "Throw me to the sharks, send me to the lockers below, toss yer stupid little papers all over me ship! I know what yer whole act is about, and ye ain't getting yer stupid wagon back!"

Yorick dropped Redbrand into the water with a splash, his expression one of shock. Realizing what he had done, he quickly summoned one of his ghouls to carefully pluck the now drenched pirate out of the waves below. Holding him up again, Yorick brought the buccaneer across the pier to stand before Mordekaiser, whose eyes now glowed a furious red as he glared at Captain Redbrand.

Redbrand spat seawater at Mordekaiser's feet. "What do ye want, you old rust-bucket?"

Mordekaiser only stared at the captain with a menace cold as steel. "What was that you said about our wagon?"


	9. Night One, 11 PM (37 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 11 PM (37 Hours Remaining)**

Sona, Olaf, and Karthus were on their way to the docks when they heard panicked screaming down the street. The handful of citizens who weren't drunk in a tavern but still awake at this late hour were scampering away from the harbor in droves, almost seeming to be in a panic as they ran into alleyways, or into houses to lock their doors.

"What's going on here?" Olaf asked a young man who ran past him and nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Th-the Shadow Isles!" the man shrieked in terror, clearly too scared to think too much about the details. "The undead! They're taking over the town! Run for your lives!"

Sona looked at Karthus with a puzzled expression, and the lyrical lich could only shrug in response. "I have no idea what he's talking about." Karthus explained. "If the Isles were taking over, I wouldn't be standing here with you lot."

"Then what the hell is he so afra - Ohhhh." Olaf grimaced a little as he saw Yorick and Mordekaiser marching with unusual resolve towards them, dragging a soaked, unconscious pirate between them.

"Er, Lord Mordekaiser?" Karthus asked meekly. "Who is-"

"Back to Fortune's Favor!" Mordekaiser commanded. "We have business to settle with this rapscallion!"

"Er..." Karthus could only watch in confusion as his fellow Shadow Islanders strode past him without another word. Sona turned to look at him with a worried frown.

"What's going on?" Olaf asked in a loud whisper.

"I... do not know." Karthus replied softly. This night had suddenly gotten really awkward.

* * *

Back at Fortune's Favor, Miss Fortune was sitting at the bar, enjoying the peace and quiet as she poured herself a shot of Sunfire Whiskey. The tavern had been going through phases of chaos and silence ever since the Pentakillers showed up, and Miss Fortune was making an effort to make the most of the silence. "Here's to the quiet of an empty bar!" the Bounty Hunter toasted herself with a smile, lifting her glass towards the ceiling. Just as the cup was about to touch her lips, however, the door burst open, and the band was back... along with a passed-out pirate.

"Who is that!?" Miss Fortune demanded, putting the shotglass down to turn from her seat and confront the bandmembers.

"The captain of the crew who stole our wagon." Mordekaiser explained. "We are going to interrogate him now as to the Bandwagon's whereabouts."

Miss Fortune found herself torn. She had just given them some speech earlier about how she didn't tolerate this kind of ruckus in her tavern. However, she had to ask herself: What did she hate more: noisy guests? Or pirates? As she twirled her finger around the rim of her shotglass and mulled it over, Miss Fortune decided that 'pirates' was the answer, and she glanced at the tiny serving of whiskey in her cup. She was probably going to need a lot more of it before the night was over. "All right, all right." she sighed, quickly downing the whiskey. "Yorick, go get some rope from the back where your instruments were earlier. The rest of you boys, take a seat around one of the tables along with our new friend. Sona, well, I hate to say it, but you'd be more of a distraction than a help. He's not gonna give us anything if he finds an opportunity to start flirting. If you could head into your room for now, that'd be most appreciated, sweetie."

Sona shrugged it off, giving Miss Fortune a pleasant smile as she dusted herself off, waved to the band and disappeared as Yorick returned from the shed with a long, sturdy rope.

"Is this the rope you were thinking of, madam?" the Gravedigger asked.

"That's the one." Miss Fortune replied with a smirk. "Let me see that. Put the captain in a chair, make sure he's sitting up straight."

Olaf and Yorick seated Captain Redbrand in the nearest wooden chair and stepped away as Miss Fortune wrapped him up tightly using the rope. Mordekaiser and Karthus had already taken seats on the other side of the table, watching the scene quietly.

"All right, boys, here's how we're going to do things." Miss Fortune explained, sitting in the center of the four remaining Pentakillers, with Olaf and Yorick on her left and Karthus and Mordekaiser on her right. "If we're gonna do this in my tavern, we're going to do this my way, no questions asked. Seems like he had already given you guys a rough time, so for now, just let me do the talking, but stick around in case things get a little hairy. You never know with a lot of these pirate types."

"Do you anticipate trouble, Fortune?" Mordekaiser asked.

"I anticipate anything but a smooth, civil conversation." Miss Fortune replied, checking the safety on her flintlock. "Just do whatever I say, and don't do anything to rile the man up, and we should make it out of this just fine."

"Ugh... where in Runeterra am I?" Captain Redbrand was slowly coming to his senses, shaking himself awake.

"Showtime." Miss Fortune smiled, leaning forward a little against the table. "Good evening, Captain, welcome."

Redbrand blinked a few times, his vision coming into focus. "Ah! M-miss Fortune!"

"Well, that saves me the trouble of introducing myself. Olaf, get the good captain a drink. Something nice and strong, we can't insult his liver by giving him just any old grog. Yorick, who did this man say he was again?"

"His name is Redbrand, apparently." Yorick answered from his seat.

"Oh, I see. That's a nifty little name, Captain. How'd you get that?" Miss Fortune asked Redbrand, keeping a cheerful tone to her voice as Olaf laid two glasses of imported Freljord ale on the table.

"That be a funny story, lass." Redbrand, trying to keep his cool, pulled the collar of his fancy crimson coat back to reveal what looked like long, winding scars on the right side of his neck. The red marks swirled over and around themselves in an intricate but asymmetrical pattern, looking quite similar to what could have been left behind by a red-hot branding iron. "Got in a tangle with a giant jellyfish long ago. Me crew thought I was bound for the depths, but I showed that jellyfish who the king of the seas was that day, and I've got the scars to prove it." Redbrand took a long gulp of ale, looking very satisfied with himself.

"That's nice..." Miss Fortune said in a saccharine voice. "You seem like such a capable pirate. I bet you find all kinds of treasure, don't you?"

"Aye, that we do." Redbrand replied, relaxing more than a little under the effects of the ale as the drink coursed through his veins. "We just found ourselves a nice little fortune just the other day, waiting for our beauty of a ship to come and collect it... I'm sure ye know what that's like, lass."

"I do." Miss Fortune smiled again, trying to keep Redbrand's attention through the drunken haze he had trapped himself in. "But how do you carry all that loot? Not with your bare hands, I'm sure. You may be big and strong, but that's a lot of gold."

"Nah, of course not!" Redbrand's voice rose without warning as he guffawed at the idea. "We picked up an old junky wagon last night not too far from here! The ol' chum bucket was perfect for the job!"

Karthus had to almost leap onto Mordekaiser's armored back to prevent the Master of Metal from crushing Redbrand's head in at that moment.

Miss Fortune turned towards the struggle. "Sit. Down." she leered angrily at Mordekaiser, who obliged, but not without lots of furious grumbling. "You say it wasn't too far from here?" Miss Fortune asked, turning back to Redbrand. "I'd actually say it was right around here. You picked it up from my tavern's storage yard, and I'm sorry to say that wagon doesn't belong to you."

"What makes ye think I care, lassie!?" Redbrand cackled. "I'm a bloody pirate! I take what I please, rules be damned. Why would I be worryin' about what belongs to who? If I likes what I sees, it belongs to me crew, end of story!"

"If that were the case, then why just take the wagon?" Miss Fortune asked incredulously. "There were some valuable instruments in that wagon when you stole it, and you just dumped them on the ground. You could have easily taken those instruments to pawn or sell. Why leave them?"

"Those instruments were mere pocket change compared to what me crew has waiting for us!" Redbrand crowed excitedly. "No need to fill up the wagon and waste space with junk!"

Now the quartet of Pentakillers all looked furious. "How dare you!" Yorick whispered. "That wagon serves a far higher purpose than carrying baubles and trinkets for a greedy barbarian like you!"

"What, carrying strings and noisemakers for a bunch of zombies?" Redbrand asked cheekily, still with plenty of liquid courage left in him as Olaf grabbed Yorick by the arms to prevent him from flipping the table over.

"Whoa, now. Boys, take it easy." Miss Fortune glanced at Yorick and Olaf, then turned back to Redbrand again when she was sure things were calm. "You said you didn't want to waste space? Where's the wagon now?"

"Back on our ship, of course, locked away in storage, nice and safe for when we leave in the morning. Me crew's finishing their business in Bilgewater, and we head out to sea with the sunrise." Redbrand explained, though with a few slurs and hiccups.

The bandmembers looked at each other in horror. Locked away? Leaving in the morning? It seemed as if there was no hope now to rescue the Bandwagon. As the Pentakillers tried to desperately come up with plans in their head, there was a pounding at the tavern's door.

"Olaf?" Miss Fortune asked plainly, not taking her eyes off of the intoxicated Redbrand. "Would you answer the door, please?"

Olaf nodded slowly, getting up and walking towards the entrance. When he opened the door with a creak, however, he was greeted by a flintlock pistol resting against his forehead. Behind the gun's barrel was a crowd of angry-looking pirates.


	10. Night One, 12 AM (36 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 12 AM (36 Hours Remaining)**

Olaf cautiously put his hands up, keeping his eyes on the pirate currently poking his forehead with the flintlock. This wasn't the Rift, and he wasn't coming back if he died here, so he didn't feel like doing anything stupid at the moment. "Miss Fortune, ma'am?" he said hoarsely. "We have new guests."

Miss Fortune bit her lower lip. She wasn't surprised Redbrand's crew crashed the party, but she also wasn't exactly prepared for them, and the situation just became that much more delicate. "Let them in." she finally told Olaf.

Olaf looked at the lead pirate, a greasy-haired rapscallion with an elegant-looking velvet eyepatch, and slowly began to back away as the corsair holstered his pistol, and motioned for the crew to enter the building with him.

Back at their seats, Mordekaiser had leaned over to Karthus. "How did they know he was here?" he whispered.

"I'd wager half of the town saw you and Yorick dragging Redbrand in here." Karthus responded quietly as Olaf sat back down. "Do you honestly think these pirates wouldn't have used force to make someone talk?"

The pirate crew began to circle around the Pentakillers' table like wolves, or more appropriately, bloodthirsty sharks, leering viciously at the bandmembers and Miss Fortune, until they settled into a half-circle formation around the band's seats. Captain Redbrand, still seated at the other side of the table, was grinning maniacally, but whether it was the joy of being rescued, or the Freljordian ale in his veins, was anyone's guess. "Will ye lay yer eyes on this?" Redbrand laughed. "Me crew has come to save me! Ain't it a touching thing, Fortune?"

"Just don't do anything stupid." Miss Fortune replied, but she was not looking at Redbrand as she spoke. Instead, she was looking at the Pentakillers out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you talking to us?" Olaf asked.

"Shut up!" Miss Fortune hissed.

Mordekaiser was a little annoyed at the Bounty Hunter barking orders to his bandmembers, but he noticed something interesting. Unlike him and the rest of the band, Miss Fortune had her hands hidden _under the table_. The Master of Metal hoped that she had an idea.

"See, ye undead freaks?" Redbrand continued babbling. "This here is why I ain't afraid of ye. All my boys have to do is stand here, and you're sitting quietly in your chairs like ladies at a tea party, shaking like the piles of bones ye are! Champions? Ha! Why don't we replace that title with somethin' a wee bit more fittin'? How about cowards?"

The band found themselves surrounded by scathing laughter as the crew guffawed loudly at Redbrand's comment. Mordekaiser, however, could faintly hear the distinctive sound of metal clicking against metal under the table. A wave of relief washed over Pentakill's guitarist; Miss Fortune had her pistol under the table, and she had turned off the safety while the crew was distracted with their captain's comedy act.

A sound of a clearing throat broke through the chortling, however, and a single pirate approached Redbrand, whispering something in the captain's ear as he untied the rope keeping him in his chair. It was the one-eyed pirate who had first drawn his pistol on Olaf, and he seemed to be glaring at Miss Fortune as he mouthed something to Redbrand.

"Oh? Good eye, and I do mean just one." Redbrand, now free of the rope, leaned forward, eyeing everyone seated at the table. "My first mate here has just given me a very good idea. It ain't just enough to have you all sitting here." Redbrand suddenly smiled a gnarled, toothy smile. "Hands up, all of ye."

"And you believe Pentakill will ever grant you the pleasure of a surrender?" Mordekaiser growled.

"It hasn't even been twenty minutes yet!" Olaf groaned.

"Shut up, Olaf." Mordekaiser and Yorick muttered in unison.

"Aww, now, now, that's not what this is about." Redbrand said in mocking reassurance. "This is all about trust, ye see. We don't want any hard feelings between us, do we? So we've gotta know there's no funny business going on. Now, get those hands up before things get messy."

"Just do what he says." Miss Fortune grumbled, but she did not lift a finger.

"Then what are you-" Karthus's question was interrupted by a metallic clang as Mordekaiser cuffed the back of his head, very nearly knocking off his mitre. When the Deathsinger turned his head to scowl at Mordekaiser, he was shocked to see that the wraith had raised his hands up, his armored elbows resting against the table.

"Just do it, Karthus, all of you." Mordekaiser said quietly, making sure to keep his gaze off of Miss Fortune. The less attention on her the better, and she was already in a sticky situation with that.

Karthus sighed, placing his book, closed, on the table and lifting his withered hands into the air. Olaf and Yorick quietly followed suit, dropping their axes and shovel with audible clangs to the floor.

Redbrand nodded as he scanned the opposite end of the table. "Good, very good. Nice to know zombies aren't completely stupid. Maybe there's hope for ye after all. But not everyone's hands are up, are they?" Redbrand looked straight ahead to stare at Miss Fortune. "Yer turn, missy. Everyone's waiting."

Miss Fortune only glared in response. She could feel the whole crew's eyes on her now, and that complicated things. She was good, but she was no Fiora when it came to speed. By the time she drew her pistol, the pirates would all be on her. If she did nothing, same results. Only one question remained: Was she going to surrender to lousy, no-good murderers and tarnish her reputation forever, or was she going to go down like the defiant mistress of the open seas that she was?

The answer was simple.

"Not going to listen, eh?" Redbrand shook his head. "Such a stubborn wench. All right, take the first one to her right."

Before anyone could react, there was a scuffling of chairs, and Karthus had been yanked out of his seat, and put into a headlock by that nasty-looking first mate, who was now gleefully keeping his flintlock against the side of Karthus's head.

Miss Fortune swiftly rose from her seat, pointing her own gun at the first mate, but not without several pistols from the crew clicking to life in response. It had become a classic Bilgewater standoff.

Redbrand only chuckled, applauding slowly, not even bothering to stand up from his seat. "Well, lass, I ain't surprised. Now it's yer move. Go on, try yer luck."

Miss Fortune gave a sideways glance to Mordekaiser. It was his bandmate who had been taken hostage, after all.

"Go ahead, he can take the hit if you miss." Mordekaiser said with a shrug.

"Lord Mordekaiser, I hate you." Karthus muttered, his hands still struggling in vain to loosen the first mate's grip on him. The Institute had no tolerance for champions committing murder most foul once they signed League contracts, but there was nothing in the rules against clear-cut self-defense. Normally, he could just sing and summon his choir to teach the pirate a lesson, but his fatal mistake was closing the songbook as he put it on the table. If that book was shut and not in the Deathsinger's hands, it may as well have been a very strange cookbook, as it had no power, and everyone knew it... everyone in Pentakill, at least.

"Ah, but if she fires one shot, me crew will be puttin' a few new holes in her." Redbrand smiled. "Ye be trapped like a Zaun sewer rat, Fortune!"

Miss Fortune concealed a grimace. Redbrand was right. Whatever direction she took this, all hell was going to break loose...

"Then let's give her somewhere to hide!" Olaf bellowed a war cry as he lifted a leg to kick the table as hard as he could. The wooden table lifted a few inches into the air, and Karthus's songbook flew up towards the ceiling. The crew, momentarily distracted by the book, watched in confusion as gravity took hold, and the book's leathery cover inched open, the pages within fluttering in the air.

It was the moment Karthus had been waiting for. Overjoyed that Olaf had done something brilliant for a change, he screamed in a high falsetto. The tables were about to literally be turned.

* * *

The next few seconds were chaos. A swirling vortex of wailing spirits was now spiraling around the pirate crew, shrieking gleefully as they lashed out at any living mortal within their reach. The pirates themselves, meanwhile, were moaning in fear, some of the more panicked individuals even trying in vain to shoot the ghosts, hitting their own crewmates and adding howls of pain to the cacophony. Mordekaiser held back an amused laugh, already feeling strength flowing through him. It was all coming together now.

The first mate cursed in terror, dropping Karthus to the floor. Underneath the crossfire, the Deathsinger crept forward to pick his book up off of the tavern's floor, when he saw razor-sharp metal shards begin to fly around him.

"Karthus, move!" Mordekaiser's voice shouted over the noise. Karthus glanced up to see that Mordekaiser had stepped in front of Miss Fortune, and bullets were now pinging off of his dimly glowing armor. The pirates' anguish was keeping him from suffering any serious damage, and he was playing the role of a shield magnificently. Those same shreds of metal were also circling Mordekaiser's body, and any pirate who attempted to get close found themselves receiving more than a few cuts and scrapes.

Karthus found that his body felt unusually light, and he could move at faster speeds than before. If he had still been human, he would have called it an adrenaline rush, but that wasn't the case. It must have been Mordekaiser's metal shielding that he had been granted. Deciding to give himself an even further advantage, Karthus set up a protective wall directly behind him as he sprinted to get behind his bandleader. If that wall could slow down Corki's flying scrapyard, surely it could slow down bullets. The Deathsinger rushed away from the panicking crew, watching as bullets whizzed slowly past his head and body. He may have been obsessed with death, but this wasn't the sort of death he liked. Transcending from one form of existence to the next was meant to be a blissful, beautiful transition, not a mess such as this. Karthus decided that he was not going to let this sort of disgrace happen to him, not tonight, not ever.

"Don't let these zombies get ya!" Redbrand roared, rising from his seat. "Take them dow- What the?" Redbrand felt himself pulled backwards, and he turned his head to see that Yorick had now taken a tight hold of him.

"You're not going anywhere..." he whispered darkly. "Lord Mordekaiser! The bar!"

"Fortune, get back there with Yorick and provide cover! Olaf, you're with me! Karthus, keep those walls up!" Mordekaiser's orders echoed through the tavern as the Master of Metal picked up his trusty mace, the steel sparking into new life at his touch.

Yorick and Miss Fortune sprinted behind the bar, the Gravedigger still dragging Captain Redbrand behind him. "Why don't we just let him go and they can leave?" Miss Fortune asked Yorick as she poked her head out to fire a shot into the crowd of corsairs.

"They've insulted Pentakill's honor by stealing our wagon!" Yorick replied. "We're not going to take that sitting down!"

"That piece of junk really means that much to you?"

"Don't let Lord Mordekaiser hear you say that."

"Too late!" Mordekaiser snarled as he sent a pair of pirates flying into a nearby wall with a swing of his mace, knocking a few decorations off with the impact. "We'll discuss that at a more appropriate time, Fortune!"

The brawl continued without any signs of stopping, with furniture, mugs, metal, bullets, ghosts, and ghouls crowding the floors and flying through the air. Anyone outside would have only heard what sounded like a muffled thunderstorm through the heavy doors of Fortune's Favor, but the silhouettes in the windows told an entirely different story to the streets of Bilgewater. It was a miracle that the tavern was even still standing, considering the scene inside.

All that suddenly came to a halt, however, with the opening of a door.

The comabt ceased as Sona appeared, staring at the bar-turned-battlefield from the end of the hallway leading to the tavern's rooms. The pirates seemed to be entranced by the Maven's beauty, and the Pentakillers simply didn't want to hurt her.

Sona finally stopped staring, and walked over to the bar, holding an empty cup in her hand. Despite her distaste for alcohol, she was unavoidably thirsty. Unable to tolerate the tonic water a second time, she settled on a nearby bottle of Demacian-made white wine, letting the drink fall gracefully from its bottle into her glass. Before she could lift the glass to her lips, however, Redbrand suddenly stood up from under the bar, grabbing Sona around the waist.

Miss Fortune whirled around to point her gun at Redbrand, but the captain was ready, holding Sona in front of him. "Ye sure about that, wench?"

"Can't you just shoot him?" Yorick asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Unless my name magically changes to Caitlyn, no." Miss Fortune replied. "I'll end up hitting Sona."

"Glad to see ye've got some common sense in ye." Redbrand said with a sadistic smile as he sauntered over to the tavern's door. "Let's see if yer friends are smart enough now."

The Pentakillers didn't move. There was nothing they could do that wouldn't put Sona at risk in the process.

"Good choice, lads." Redbrand nodded. "Seems ye had some beautiful treasure after all. We thank ye fer that. Let's go, boys." And with that, the crew filed out of the tavern, taking Sona with them.

"Damn them..." Karthus rasped. "Now they've got Sona, too..."

"They won't get away with this..." Yorick growled.

"So what do we do now, Mordekaiser?" Olaf asked.

Miss Fortune turned to look at Mordekaiser, with the rest of the Pentakillers. "They said they were taking their ship and sailing out in the morning... We still have a chance."

"Then we need to come up with a plan." Mordekaiser concluded. "Olaf, Fortune, the two of you get some rest, you'll need it. Those of us who don't need sleep will spend the night more productively. Tomorrow morning, we'll take the attack to Redbrand. He'll be sorry he ever trifled with Pentakill!"

**Sorry for the unannounced hiatus (real-life always seems to come a-knocking), but I hope this lengthier chapter makes up for it! It seems like the stakes are just growing higher and higher for our metal-loving heroes! All they wanted was their wagon back! xD**


	11. Night One, 1 AM (35 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 1 AM (35 Hours Remaining)**

Sona found herself sitting alone in Captain Redbrand's cabin, onboard his ship, the _Lonely Siren_. She had to admit, the pirates had been quite gentle with her so far, under the watchful eye of Redbrand himself. Instead of being dragged onto the galleon, Redbrand had been enough of a gentleman to take her by the hand and escort her aboard, albeit with a rough, firm grip around her waist to make sure she didn't try to run away. She was then locked in his cabin, and she had been sitting on his feather bed ever since.

Outside the cabin's wooden door, she could hear boisterous laughter. The pirates were having a party of some kind, likely to celebrate their expedition at dawn. Sona frowned to herself. She had to get off of this ship, but with the pirates partying all night, there was no way she could get out of this cabin undetected, unless every single buccaneer on board decided to drink himself to death, or at least into a near-unconscious stupor.

She didn't have her _etwahl_ to defend herself, either. Not yet, at least, it was still at Fortune's Favor. It would find its way to her in due time, but Sona realized she could be in the middle of the ocean at that point, and not even her beloved instrument could save her. With a soundless sigh, the Maven of the Strings let her face fall glumly into her hands.

The laughter from outside grew louder for a moment, as the cabin door opened, and Redbrand strode into the room. "Well, now, lass, I do hope ye've made yerself comfortable?"

Sona, of course, didn't say a word.

"A quiet one, ain't ya?" Redbrand chuckled. "Come on, don't be shy."

The captain was again met with silence.

"I'm not askin' ye to talk, I'm _tellin'_ ye!" Redbrand's hand inched closer to his sheathed cutlass.

Sona frowned, moving a hand upwards to lightly tap her throat, hoping the pirate would get the message.

"Are ye tryin' to tell me ye can't speak?" Redbrand growled.

Sona nodded slowly. Did he think she was lying? She hoped not.

Redbrand glared at Sona for a while, then cracked a smile. "Well, that may be fer the better. Wouldn't want a wench talkin' me ear off all day!" The captain laughed heartily, clapping Sona unexpectedly on the shoulder. "Be as quiet as ye like, lass! Ye'll be safe here with me! Come on, now, give yer captain a pretty smile!"

Sona's frown, however, did NOT turn upside down.

"What's this?" Redbrand asked. "Ye do not seem happy to be here."

Sona glared, as if to say, "Of course not!"

Redbrand sat down on the bed beside Sona. "What's troublin' ye, me beauty?" he asked, reaching over to touch Sona's arm.

Sona quickly brushed his hand off, her eyes wide with indignation. She couldn't believe this pirate would be so thick as to ask that question, and that he was trying to sucker her in by being nice.

Redbrand gasped. "Don't tell me ye actually MISS those undead lunatics!?" he nearly shouted.

Sona nodded again.

"Take my gold and sink it, why would ye ever want to be seen with the likes of them?" Redbrand asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "Even a pirate is better than a corpse..."

Sona wasn't impressed by the comparison, and to prove it, she made the shape of a pistol with her hand as she put it against her head.

"Oh, aye, us takin' you hostage." Redbrand nodded. "Pirates aren't the most diplomatic of individuals, that be true. But surely they had done the same? Put some evil Harrowing spell on ye or somethin' to keep ye prisoner?"

Sona shook her head.

"And ye ain't brainwashed or nothin'?"

Another negative.

"Fascinatin'." Redbrand concluded. "Why stay with them, then?"

Sona smiled a little as she thought of her companions, and only traced a smiling face in the air for Redbrand.

"Ye actually _like_ them?" Redbrand's tone seemed to quickly shift from curiosity to disgust, and he rose from the bed. "Bah! The undead are all alike. Mopin' on and on about death, and how we should all join them, would make the world a better place! What a crock!"

Normally, Sona would have objected, but admittedly, she had heard Karthus make that speech before, give or take. What Redbrand was saying did have some merit... but her friends weren't like that. Even Karthus was at least tolerant of her and Olaf being mortal and alive.

It didn't stop the captain's rant, however, as he drank a swig of rum from a flask on his hip and carried on. "They're a plague, I say! Year after year, the Harrowing fills us all with dread and despair! It's because we allow those festerin' Shadow Isles to exist. We should destroy the whole bleedin' place! But no, that "League of Legends" insists upon have the zombies around fer some stupid reason! Fields of Justice... champions... A bunch of malarkey!"

Sona felt the need to defend her fellow champions, but without her music, she was no match for even a drunken pirate, so she had to just quietly listen to Redbrand's inebriated speech. The more she thought of her friends, however, the more she felt an anger inside of her. She couldn't take it anymore, and she stood up from the bed. Within two or three steps, she was in front of Redbrand, and the sound of her hand slapping Redbrand across his right cheek almost seemed to reverberate through the cabin.

Redbrand was shocked into silence for a second, then his already angry face turned into nothing less than an expression of animalistic fury. "This is how ye repay me fer yer rescue, wench!?" he bellowed. "We'll see about that!" Grabbing Sona by the wrist, he opened a hatch in the floor, leading down into the ship's hold. "I offered ye a comfortable spot, but it doesn't seem ye want it. So here ye go!" Redbrand unceremoniously tossed Sona into the hold. "And stay down there!" he added, before slamming the hatch shut, leaving Sona in pitch blackness.

Sona could hear a metallic clanging above her head. Redbrand must have locked the latch shut. Wonderful. Sona felt a chill run down her spine. At first she thought it was just the cold sea air enveloping her in the damp hold, but she also knew deep down that it was because she was now scared. She was afraid she'd never see her friends again... and that she'd be stuck on this ship forever. The morning sun wasn't far away, and it was coming closer to Bilgewater with every passing second.

**Illness, and family stuff, and job interviews, oh my! Life has so many little distractions, and not just nerdy gaming stuff. It's a curse. xD  
Anyway, I've had to do some thinking of how to continue the story, after some recent updates to the game we know and love. Story-wise, not much has changed from my original idea for these next few chapters. But for future reference...  
-I am aware of Mordekaiser's new title, the Iron Revenant. However, for the sake of continuity, I will continue to refer to him in this story as the Master of Metal. If, hypothetically, I come up with a solid enough idea to publish a sequel to ****_The Sixth Man_****, his new title will be used there, as well as in any future fics I may write.  
-Call me stubborn, but I like the old lore with the League of Legends and the Institute of War. It gives a reason for all the champs to know each other at least semi-well, and it serves that purpose with this story. I will continue to use the League in this story, and any other future LoL fics I create.  
-There is one character in this story (not telling here, but folks who have been paying close attention may know. ;) ) whose abilities have DRASTICALLY changed as of late. I will be using the new abilities from here on out.  
We're getting close to the end, folks! Hang in there, and thank you for staying loyal to our favorite metal band!**


	12. Day Two, 5 AM (31 Hours Remaining)

**Day Two, 5 AM (31 Hours Remaining)**

Fortune's Favor was quiet, but not because everyone was sleeping. The undead trio of Pentakill didn't technically need to sleep (but in order to prevent discomfort in public places like inns, could at least "go through the motions"), and Olaf and Miss Fortune had found themselves unable to accomplish much more than fitful tossing and turning in their beds. So as the clock above the bar rang five times, the five champions of the League were seated around the usual table, which now had a few dings and scratches in the finish after the midnight skirmish that had resulted in Sona's abduction. They needed a plan, and fast.

"Didn't anyone think of anything even resembling a plan?" Miss Fortune asked in an almost pained voice.

"Not yet." Karthus said glumly. "Except for raiding the boat, of course. We all thought of that one. We know the vessel, thanks to Yorick's encounter with Redbrand. However, we do not know how many pirates will be there... it'd be suicide, at least for those of us who are alive to object to such a thing."

"We cannot just sit here!" Mordekaiser snapped, clearly itching for a fight, if wraiths could even itch. "Either we lose our keyboardist after a battle for the ages, or we lose her as the boat drifts away towards... who knows what."

"Well, there's the sun..." Yorick mumbled sadly, pointing towards the window, or what was left of it after the firefight in the bar. Through a few broken shards of glass in the window's ruined frame, a soft pink sky could be seen painting the horizon. "That ship's going to be raising its anchor soon. And some of us are unable to swim at all, much less keep up with a boat heading to ports unknown..."

"Screw it!" Olaf shouted, his Freljordian blood already boiling. "It's now or never! Let's go!" The Berserker took point, scooting out of his chair and sprinting for the streets with an indiscernable battle cry. The rest of the table's occupants stared at the open tavern door for a moment before standing up out of their chairs... except for one.

"Now wait just a moment!" Karthus gasped as everyone else followed Olaf's lead. "Are we seriously leaving sanity at the door and just deciding to blindly push as if a bunch of bronze-ranked summoners were in charge of the fight!?"

Mordekaiser stopped in the doorway and turned towards Karthus, his crimson eyes almost seeming to burn a hole into Karthus's mitre. "Do you want to save Sona or not?" he asked in a low voice.

Karthus sighed. Why couldn't things ever be simple? Grabbing his book, he hurried to catch up with the others.

* * *

The roads and alleys of Bilgewater were silent, as street lamps began to dim in the early morning light. As the citizens of the rough port town were snug in their beds, the cobblestone paths outside suddenly echoed with the heavy footsteps of a metallic mace-wielding wraith, a hulking hunchbacked gravedigger, and a frenzied Freljordian fighter, accompanied by the light patter of a lanky redhead in heels. At the rear of the pack, a robed lich silently glided, his bony feet never touching the ground.

With the lack of traffic in the streets, the quintet arrived at the docks in a matter of minutes, and Yorick was looking around frantically.

"Come on, Yorick. Which one is it?" Olaf asked.

"Look for a Marai with a ridiculous bust on the ship's bow." Yorick muttered in disgust.

"You probably just described half the ships in the harbor, sweetie." Miss Fortune had to hold back a chuckle. "Pirates aren't the most tasteful of people. But I'm guessing you mean ridiculous even by their standards?"

"Oh, yes." Yorick groaned. "Made your typical tavern wench look fla-"

"All right, all right, stop." Miss Fortune quickly cut Yorick off as she began to strut down the deck, looking for the boat in question. "Where was it docked exactly, can you remember?"

"Somewhere more towards the center of the harbor, I think. However, nothing says they did not move at some point in the night."

The crew split up, pacing up and down the docks looking for a ship with a comically well-endowed figurehead. Olaf and Miss Fortune took the left side, with Yorick staying in the center as Mordekaiser and Karthus investigated the docks on the right side of the harbor. It was early enough in the morning that nobody would bother the team, as the only other soul to be seen was Gangplank, sitting outside his ship at the very edge of the harbor.

Yorick shuffled off of the creaking wooden planks of the dock, tapping the nearest patch of dirt with his shovel once he was back on solid ground. A mangy-looking ghoul poked its head out, looking in an almost despairing wonder at Yorick.

"Search." the Gravedigger ordered. "You know what to find."

The ghastly-looking cretin nodded, pulling itself out of the soil and looking around before scampering towards the boats to investigate. Yorick followed close behind, watching to see if the creature would notice anything he did not. Meanwhile, the others weren't having much better luck, until Mordekaiser turned to begin walking back towards the center of the harbor, and noticed a terrible sight.

"Er... This is the one time I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate news, but..." Mordekaiser pointed out towards the horizon. A large galleon was a fair distance away, slowly drifting away towards the rising sun, its sails wide open to catch the morning zephyrs.

"Anyone want to place a bet that's them?" Miss Fortune asked quietly.

No one opposed the idea. The five found themselves standing on the dock, watching without a word as the boat sailed further away.

"So now what?" Yorick asked softly, breaking the glum silence. "We don't have a boat."

"Or a crew to run it." Miss Fortune pointed out. "I have a boat, but I'd have to hire a lot of people in a span of only a few minutes if we wanted to stand a chance."

There was a collective sigh of dismay as the group watched the galleon in the distance until Karthus gasped. "Everyone, I have a solution!"

"And at this point, even I am desperate enough to listen." Mordekaiser grumbled. "Go on, Deathsinger."

"We may not have a boat... but we know someone who does. Someone whose crew is likely indebted to us for the free concert the other night." Karthus then tilted his head back to the end of the harbor.

While the faces of the Pentakillers brightened at the revelation, Miss Fortune's reaction wasn't quite so cheerful. "Oh, _hell_ _no_."

* * *

"If it ain't the Pentakillers again!" Gangplank laughed heartily from his seat atop a wooden barrel in front of where his ship was docked, drinking a terrifying cocktail of orange juice and an ungodly amount of black rum from a large mug. Clearly, it was the breakfast of champions. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked the five who were currently standing around him.

"No pleasure about it, Captain." Karthus replied. "Sona's been kidnapped!"

Gangplank spat out his drink, which splashed harmlessly against Mordekaiser's gleaming plates and dripped onto the ground. The Master of Metal scowled, and took ahold of Olaf's shaggy beard, using the hair as a makeshift mop.

"Ye can't be serious!" Gangplank whispered hoarsely. "That beautiful lass, gone? Who done this terrible deed, lads?"

"His name is Captain Redbrand." Yorick explained. "We captured him after he stole the Bandwagon, and his crew rescued him from Fortune's Favor last night."

"Aye, Redbrand. He's been docked here a long time, often rantin' about the undead whenever he stopped in fer a drink at Myron's. I don't reckon ye knew this, but he has a deep hatred for ye undead folk. Might've recognized yer wagon and seen a way to get back at ye."

"And what have we ever done to him before last night?" Mordekaiser demanded. "Played badly at a concert, perhaps?"

"The Harrowing, Mordekaiser." Gangplank explained. "Many of Bilgewater fear it above all else, especially the superstitious type. And ol' Cap'n Redbrand? One of the worst in that regard. I remember hearing a tale of him taking his crew out on one of those dark nights to defend the city... near lost everything. Ain't been the same since. Hard for me to say if he's doing this to spite ye, or if he honest-to-gods thinks he's doing miss Sona a favor by sweepin' her off her feet."

"It sure didn't seem like it last night, with the way he held her at gunpoint." Miss Fortune muttered. "If that's his idea of being a gentleman, I think even Cho'Gath could give him lessons."

"Aye, that be true, miss. Redbrand was never the most chivalrous of men, even amongst his fellows. Where be his ship?"

Miss Fortune and the Pentakillers all pointed to the eastern seas in unison.

Gangplank smiled crookedly. "And let me guess, lads... Ye need a stalwart vessel to carry ye to yer fair lass so ye may rescue her?"

"As much as you and these guys know I _hate_ asking YOU of all people for help, yes," Miss Fortune replied. "That's exactly it. I can't hire a crew fast enough, especially considering we don't know where they're going. We just know they apparently found some amazing treasure somewhere."

Gangplank stroked his beard in thought. "I may have a theory as to where they're off to, but if luck be a sweet lady this day, we may catch them on the open sea! Come on, ye lot! We have a crew to wake! We can discuss the payment later."

"Payment!?" Mordekaiser bellowed. "Stop right there, Captain! We gave your crew a free concert not three days ago!"

"Free music doesn't keep a belly fed, me hearty." Gangplank pointed out shrewdly. "While me crew would be more than happy to assist in the rescue of a bonny lass like Sona, a ship doesn't run on good will, and that just be the honest truth. What can ye offer us in return?"

"We'll talk about it later!" Miss Fortune said hurriedly, stepping on board Gangplank's ship. "We're wasting time talking about it now! Let's get out there and save Sona!"

"Aye, aye!" Gangplank said with a chuckle, amused at the unlikely alliance between him and Fortune. He and the Pentakillers rushed aboard the ship, hoping the winds would be in their favor, because the odds certainly didn't seem to be. 

**Fun fact: I learned after coming up with that combination that dark rum and orange juice is an actually somewhat popular cocktail. The more you know.**

**Also...I think I have some explaining to do. xD**

**First off, accept my humblest of apologies. The last year consisted of not only the usual holidays, but a 25th anniversary in the family, taking part in a church drama project, a high school graduation, relatives visiting, the first family vacation in years, me starting and ending my first job in two years, becoming the GM for a tabletop campaign, relocation to a new home in a new town after eighteen years of living in the same place, and me making formal preparations and an appeal to live in a brand new country to move in with my long-time fiance. A lot of my "free time" has been dedicated to family, my fiance, and saying goodbye to friends I may not ever see physically face-to-face ever again. Stress was at an all-time high for my family, and I lacked motivation/time to write most anything. I do hope this will change in the near future. Thank you so, SO much for your patience and understanding.**


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